City of Ashes (Bane Fanfiction)
by TokyoFemmebot
Summary: Miranda Tate's daughter, Sam, grew up a lonely and curious child on a private estate outside of Gotham. When the metropolis is under attack, Sam escapes to the city to find her mother, but is swept up into a violent world led by Bane. To rise from the horrors of death, destruction and betrayal, Sam must find strength and courage; two elements in herself that she never knew existed.
1. Sam I Am

[WARNING: Yo Batman (and especially Bane) fans, just wanted to get the word out there that I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING RELATED TO THE BATMAN FRANCHISE. -breathes- Ah, there we go. Now that that's all said and done, please enjoy this introduction to my new fanfiction story!]

_Fight the darkness and arise, _

_From broken hearts torn by lies._

_Clear the storm and wash away,_

_The wounds and blood of long past days_.

- Unknown (1-4)

My name is Sam, and just that. People always assume that it is a nickname, or a shorter version of Samantha, but I must repeatedly correct the common assumption. For those anticipating an epic introduction into the vastly superior knowledge I contain, or the extraordinary powers that separate me from the rest of society, I am sad to disappoint you with a greatly milder version. Before any of the stages of decline that Gotham faced after Bane and his army invaded the city, I was but a normal twenty-one year old girl. Well, excluding the fact that my mother was a highly successful board member of one of the richest companies in the world, I was completely normal. Never prone to violence, and always maintaining a quiet demeanor, I was never suspect to have any influence on the events to come.

Before anything truly began…

Gotham had been poisoned by an aggressive virus bent on muddying the vitality of the city. Criminals and violence pumped into the running veins of the metropolis, the arteries sick and black from lack of justice. Soon enough, the establishment of law and rightfulness would be torn at the seams to reveal a tumour of chaos bulging beneath the skin.

Hope of regained welfare still faded to that day, when Batman disappeared from the streets. Any heedful person feared leaving the mild safety of their homes into the unstable outdoor world. The air slowly transitioned into a thick smog of hostility, and was barely breathable. Paranoia quickly took over, and soon every shape, every movement granted frightened reactions from those who dared to venture outside.

But our beginnings are not always as glorious as our ends.

In the darkness that ensued, I was but a delicate leaf, torn from the comforts of normality and a simple life into an uncontrollable world, led by an uncontrollable fate. Whether I would be stepped upon, or outlast the storms of life, I did not know, though I wished for the wind to pick me from the ground and send me to a higher place, away from harm… Away from the cruel inevitable. Such wishes seemed foolish, but I had nothing else but dreams to keep at bay the onslaught of madness.

When my father died, I was sent out of Gotham City into the countryside, at my mother's behest, and kept at a small estate where I grew up a lonely, inquisitive child. Rather than join other children at school, I had tutors to occupy most of my time during the week, though I tended to be easily distracted by thoughts of the outside world, and an otherwise 'silly child imagination,' as my instructors admitted. Those who worked at the estate did not have any desire to play with a child, which was considered an entirely different job, and left me to fend for myself.

Mother visited on the weekends, or when her job allowed free time. She was a beautiful woman of great discipline and fierceness. When in a room, mother demanded attention, not with words, but with her very presence. Glacial blue eyes pierced the darkness of her tresses, as if a wolf prowling the night, and a quick light catching its ferocious eyes. Even as her child, I found my mother to be a mystery. I never questioned her decision to leave me at the estate, because I trusted my mother, and also because I was afraid of her. When I was asked how I faired during the week, I said that everything was fine. I lied, of course, but knowing that mother had a stressful, relentless job to fend against, I did not want to worry her any more than necessary. Some critics might have argued that my mother's decision to seclude me at the estate for so long was irresponsible and stemmed from an obsessive over-protective need, but I would have defended her to the end, even if my conscience whispered differently.

The only connection I had to the outside world was the television. To tell the truth, I might as well have been from another planet. Everything that spewed from the T.V. was a considerable verity, and I regarded the outside world to be some foreign land full of adventures awaiting an explorer. The news was a favorite of mine, because it spoke of real events, real information about Gotham City, and the rest of the world. Every morning at seven o'clock, and evening at eight o'clock, I watched Gotham Cable News religiously to catch up on events happening in the metropolis.

Once day, I promised myself, I would visit Gotham.

As the years passed, my curiosity grew exponentially, to the point where I was planning an escape. Over time, I learned the schedule of every worker at the estate, when the security guards switched shifts, and when everyone rose in the morning, and went to bed in the evening. To my instructors' surprise, I grew to be quite an intelligent girl, despite my imagination that still clung on, and served as a distraction during school sessions. Now, I would vent my thoughts into literature. I wrote poetry and prose during much of my spare time, and also read a plethora of classical books that flooded my mind with a sense of escape.

"Gotham city is under attack," George Terrence announced from the television in a panic. "Bane, known to be the leader of the rebel organization overpowering all armed forces, has claimed ownership over the city in a slew of violent attacks against opposing people and the government…"

Hearing this broadcast echo into the bathroom, I rushed out with a toothbrush still foaming in my mouth, wide eyed with disbelief.

"No way," I slurped, catching toothpaste from sliding down my chin onto the floor with a fast tongue. As the news continued to update the situation, I ran over to the window of my bedroom and glanced towards the tower tops of Gotham City, which seemed to be blurred by plumes of grey smoke. Even in the countryside, I could make out the metropolis on the horizon. At night, through the darkness, it was a beacon of light that glowed faintly, taunting me to heed its call.

"Mom," I whispered, gripping the windowsill tensely. What if mother was in danger?

"We-we're just getting another update from Chris on the streets," George continued, pressing the microphone in his ear for better reception. "It seems that Bane has broken into Blackgate Penitentiary and released all of the inmates inside. They're pooling out into the streets as we speak. God help us."

I turned towards the television again, honing onto the street footage being played live.

A man dressed in a long coat stood atop a strange modernized army vehicle with a torn picture of Harvey Dent in his grasp. Something seemed strange about him. As I neared the television to get a better look at this Bane character, I noticed a mask clasped around the greater portion of his head, with the main component centered on the mouth and nose like a biotical aperture with wires for teeth. What was that machinery for? In any case, Bane was a giant specimen of human engineering, most likely towering over six feet tall, and made of nothing but impenetrable muscle.

"We take Gotham from the corrupt, the rich!," Bane shouted above the crowd of freed prisoners. "The oppressors who for generations have kept you down with myths of opportunity and we give it back to you, the people! Gotham is yours, none shall interfere ... do as you please! Start by storming Blackgate and free the oppressed. Step forward those who would serve, for an army will be raised. The powerful will be ripped from their decadent nests - and cast out into the cold that we know and endure. Courts will be convened. Spoils will be enjoyed. Blood will be shed. The police will survive as they learn to serve true justice. This great city... it will endure. Gotham will survive." The mask must have been the source of Bane's mechanical voice, but it reminded me of when someone would speak through cupped hands, filtered into echoes and crackles like a static radio station.

I touched the screen, horrified, as I watched Bane's disciples hand out guns and weapons to all willing prisoners. "What are you doing?" I shouted at Bane. "Why… why is this happening?"

There was no other choice. I had to escape to the city now in order to save my mother from harm. Bane mentioned the rich and powerful would be torn from their nests. My mother fell under that category, and only I was probably willing to go into the chaotic city quarters to find and bring her to safety. I quickly dressed, nearly fumbling to the ground a few times, and ran downstairs.

"Sam, where are you going?" Mrs. Burton, the timid housemaid, asked as I sped passed her towards the front door of the estate.

Quickly, I slowed down to a jaunt, and turned around with a false smile. "Oh, I'm just going outside for a run," I lied.

"In boots?" She wondered.

I looked down at my feet. "Would you look at that! Seems I've grabbed the wrong shoes. Ah, well. Maybe a walk would better suit me, then?"

"Indeed!" Mrs. Burton replied, seeming content with my recreational decision. "Breakfast will soon be ready. Then, it's off with Mr. Cadwell for a math lesson first thing at eight."

"Right, I won't be late." I lied again. Lucky for me, it seemed as though the maid was not suspicious of my plans, and no one else was around to intercept either. With all said and done, I left the house and proceeded towards the parked cars at the front of the lot.

One thing was for sure. I did not know how to drive. However, with the help of Google, I did learn how to spark start a car. The time was 7:18, so the guards at the front of the estate should be making their rounds to the back gardens by now. This should give me enough time to reach the cars, and drive out of here before anyone has time to catch up. I looked back once I reached the rows of cars, to see if anyone was running after me, but the coast was clear.

"Locked… locked… locked," I mumbled under my breath, as I checked to see which cars were left open. "Locked… locked… open!" Without hesitation, I climbed into the driver's seat of the available car, and reached under the steering wheel for the right compartment. Once found, I pulled it open and fetched the yellow and red wires. There was a pair of scissors in my bag, and I pulled them out and cut both wires in half.

"Please work," I pleaded. The two wires sparked on touch with one another, and the car whined. With a couple more tries, the engine started, and I twisted both wires securely together. "Yes, I did it!" After the task was completed successfully, I performed a quick joyful dance.

"Sam!" Someone yelled from a distance.

I stopped celebrating, and shot a look out of the window only to see Louie, one of the guards, running towards the car.

"Oh, crap!" I cursed, and pulled the shift into drive. For a moment, I forgot what pedal was which, and I pressed on the breaks hard by mistake. The car jerked. "Oops, wrong one." I mumbled, frustrated. "Here we go." This time, I pressed on the gas pedal, and shot out of the parking lot with nothing but dust and a dazed Louie in the background.

"Sorry!" I yelled out the window, as I sped off into the distance, towards Gotham City.

This explorer has some adventures to tend to.

**To be continued...**

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Author's Note: Hope you guys enjoyed this intro chapter! More will be explained about Sam's appearance in the next chapter, and her background history... Must write in strides! Please leave a comment, and don't forget suggestions too! I'm always willing to take in advice! :) Thanks for the read!


	2. Street Ghosts

[WARNING: I do not own anything from the Batman franchise, so there!]

"Stay on the road," I asserted through closed teeth. The car swerved on the gravel, unsteady under my lack of experience behind the wheel. A tail of dust blew into the air from the constant battle between spinning rubber and rocky earth. Before long, the country road would connect to the main highway, and send the car towards Gotham like a spaceship would accelerate to a new planet. Overhead, I could see the highest towers jet out from the ground, over treetops and rolling hills, foreign in their artificial nature.

There! A sign for Brown Bridge flashed green and in sight for only a moment, before it was lost in the dust. As I neared the bridge, the car slowed under a depressed foot, and finally it stopped. The bridge was a massive construction, a wondrous human feat, and although the road stretched long from the main land to Gotham City, I could make out a crowd of people in the middle of the span.

Then and there, I finally noticed that there were no other cars occupying the roads. No one exited the bridge, to the main land, which was odd considering the recent attack. What made more sense, was that nobody made their way _into_ the city – except for me. Outside there was no signs of life, save the figures on the bridge, and suddenly the air felt eerie and the land apocalyptic. I shifted the gear into park, and turned on the radio to hear any updated broadcasts on the city attack. Nothing but static noise reverberated in the walls of the car, and so I flicked the station off.

For some reason, the bridge did not feel safe. The men surveying the grounds ahead had built a blockade using armed vehicles topped with heavy machinery. These people, were they good or bad? If I found out the latter too late, I would not be able to outrun gunfire. Even if I used the car as a ramming device, there was no possible way that it could split the tanks a part; their sheer weight was too great an endeavour to overcome.

Below the bridge – that is where I had to go. There had to be a boat of some kind lingering unsupervised for me to borrow, and take across the river. The car was left on the street, while I lowered cautiously down the steep hill onto the sandy borders of the river, where the search for a floating device would begin.

Did I even know how to swim? If the boat somehow crashed, or capsized, would I be able to survive the watery depths? For a moment, I wavered the thought of journeying across the river, but then I remembered mother, and shook the doubt from my mind. She needed me to rescue her, and so reluctance was out of the question.

"A boat!" I announced, a little surprised to find such a simplistic fishing vessel unattended and best suited for my lack of expertise in… well, most things. Though made of wood, the contraption was still heavy as I dragged it across the sand and into the shallow parts of water. I climbed inside the vessel, and grabbed both paddles on each side to begin rowing to the other side of the wide expanse of river.

Already, the adventure has led me to learn how to drive a car, and row a boat. These actions would otherwise have been lost in the mundane daily repetitiveness I faced at the estate night and day. Other than writing and daydreaming, I had no other specialties to be proud of.

After half an hour, my arms were ready to fall off. Muscles, bones, joints – everything hurt. At the beginning of the crossing, I never took any breaks, but now at an interval of every five minutes, I would stop and rest my arms to recuperate from the constant paddling. Finally, after almost an hour, I reached Gotham's borders, and jumped out into knee deep water to pull the boat to shore.

By the bridge, on the other side, the atmosphere was quite dead, but now I sensed hostility and burning life in the distance, as if transitioning from one dimension of the same location to another. Smoke perfumed the air, and turned it opaque. Ashes floated down like gentle snowflakes, and smeared the aftermath of destruction on my pale cheek. I took one step into the city, and then stopped at the sound of shrilled screams that bounced between buildings, echoing as if Gotham was haunted by ghosts. Many lives have most likely been taken by now, so maybe the city was haunted by the dead, the vengeful.

Through my nose, I took a deep breath to calm excited nerves, and walked into the shadowy maze unarmed and unprepared. Shots of gunfire rung in the city streets ahead, but I kept on going forward. Angry shouts, and running footsteps birthed from every corner, but I kept on going forward. There was a glass laminated map of the city on one of the street corners, and I looked to where Wayne Tower was located. If I kept going east, eventually I would come to it head on. All I would have to do is follow the same road all the way. Easy enough, it seemed.

The streets were empty. No one dared to exit their homes, most likely. In some windows, I saw soft shapes of faces peak out from behind shielding curtains, and curious eyes follow me until I was out of site. I stared back at them, but other than statuesque silence and quiet horror, nothing changed from person to person. If I spoke up, too much attention would probably be brought to me from unwanted sources, and so I too remained a silent, fleeting shadow.

Piles of ashes coated the streets in a grey film, and I kicked the light powder with nervous feet.

_Are the ashes made from materials, or people? _

"Hey, girl!" a male voice shouted as I crossed an intersection. No cars aligned the streets, and the lights harbored only darkness.

I looked right, and saw an armed man jog towards me, a threatening gun held with cautious hands. In a panic, I ran straight, and crossed over left down a side street. The moment I fled, the man sprinted after me with surprising speed, considering he had so much armor strapped to each limb and his core. The air was thick, and poisoned with smoky chemicals, and as I ran, each breath was harder to catch. Now I was lost, ridden with panic and fear. Each street looked the same. With every shout the man threw at me from behind, more attention was drawn to us from the windows of houses, and lingerers on the streets.

"Stop!" the man continued to shout, clasping his gun ever more tightly. "I said stop!"

The taste of ashes soiled my mouth. The taste of the dead.

A cacophony of screams and chants blew silence into nothingness as I approached City Hall. Citizens and soldiers crowded the entrance of the building, and without much consideration, I ran up the stairs into the heaps of people to lose the armed man chasing me still.

These were humans, and yet the sounds coming from their mouths, deep and rumbling, reflected animalistic behaviour. The crowd threw up angry fists, and flashed wild eyes. Suddenly, I felt more afraid here, than when I was being chased by one man. As I wormed my way deeper into the wall of angry bystanders, the gunman's shouts became lost in all the chaos. The City Hall was no longer an establishment of law and regiment, and instead its walls have been rebuilt for a different purpose – condemnation.

"Death! Death! Death!"

"Kill him!"

"Send him on the ice. Let him drown!"

Men, women, and children spat out venomous, rage-consumed threats that seemed beyond reason, beyond anything I could remotely comprehend. The wrath that bulged blood vessels under taught skin, bared teeth stringed with saliva, and balled fists into unstable weapons was ever blinding. I could see it clearly, these people were mad. Absolutely, irrevocably mad.

Out of nowhere, the shouting quieted, and a single voice could be heard.

"You are John Bellview, correct? Owner of Gotham City Financials, the largest banking company on the island?" a monotonous male questioner spoke first.

"Yes, yes…That is correct." A second, older male voice answered hesitantly.

I finally managed to squeeze my way through the crowd, to the front of the wall, where an older gentleman wearing a soiled black suit and ruffled grey hair sat in a vintage golden chair, in front of a pile of books. There was a younger man, wearing glasses that clasped a mallet in his hand lazily, on the stack of papers and literature overlooking the crowd.

What was going on?

"By word of mouth, you secretly invested a lot of your money, along with the money of your customers, into failing shares at the black market downtown, did you not? Of course, we the people, don't care about the loss of your own investments, but you stole millions of dollars that did not belong to you, didn't you Mr. Bellview?" The young man continued, seething venom from his mouth.

"No, th - that's not true!" The older gentleman replied, shaking his hands in desperation. I could not see the accused's face, but I could imagine complete fear was a justly assumed expression that echoed in the man's eyes. "I never stole any money! Never!" The man attempted to explain to the angry people surrounding him by all sides, but as the victim saw each hard face, his voice quieted. The answer was clear.

The judge sighed. "Let's get this over with. What should this thief receive as punishment? Death, or exile?"

Once again, the people shouted an answer, both choices being equally damaging.

"Exile, then!" The judge finalized, slamming the mallet repeatedly in a loud clatter of bangs.

I backed away slowly, wanting no part in this madness. The victim struggled in the hands of some armed guards, and was dragged out another door leading to the cold, snowy river screaming for forgiveness.

"Girl!"

That voice! The man who was chasing me still presumed the hunt. As I was overcome by the sentencing, I had forgotten completely why I escaped into the City Hall in the first place. To the right, there was an open door leading to a lesser crowded hallway, and so I pushed my way passed annoyed citizens to target the area before being nabbed by the huntsman.

When reached, I slipped to the left, not knowing which way to go, but then stopped dead in my tracks.

"Mother?" I gasped, spotting her down the hall, speaking calmly to some guards. There were no cuffs or ropes that bound mother's wrists, but then again the sentinels had guns, and it would have been foolish to try and run from them. My mother was not foolish.

I shouted louder, "Mom!" waving my arms in the air. She turned and saw me, ending the conversation immediately to gape at her daughter's sudden presence. I smiled, relieved that Mother was unharmed. Excited, I ran towards her, wet eyed and happy.

Someone was coming around the corner, his shadow loomed and distorted into an unrecognizable shape against the wall. The sound of crackling breaths echoed down the hall, and I slowed to a cautious walk, and then coming to recognize who it was, then stopped all together.

"No," I gasped, taking a step back.

Now was not the time for fear. Mother was in mortal danger now, and I had to act fast. Even if no escape plan could be conjured in the next few seconds, we could somehow run out of the building, and find a safe place away from the enemy. I sprinted over to Mother and grabbed her hand, forcing her to follow me. "Come on, mom! We have to get out of here!" I screamed, watching the shadow close in on us.

"Sam, what are you doing here?" Mother questioned, surprised to see me. She pulled her hand free, and featured the strangest expression. A plethora of feelings washed in mother's deep blue eyes, the most questionable of which was frustration, as if she was annoyed to see me.

I frowned, unable to understand. "What do you mean? I've come to find you, after I heard about the city being attacked. We need to leave," I tried to explain. Why – why was I needing to justify myself to her?

The shadow was almost here, with crepitating breaths that grew louder, and now thunderous footsteps that added to the reality of fear.

Once again, I grabbed a hold of mother's hand, more firmly this time, and pulled her away from the guards. "Let's go!" I demanded, giving the extra push that Mother needed.

"Hey, stop!" One of the guards interfered. He stepped forward and tried to latch onto my arm, which I pulled away. For some reason, out of reflex perhaps, I snatched the knife from the sentinel's sheathe, and pointed it at him. The blade shook furiously in my hand, as I tried to maintain an intimidating posture. In all of my life, I never hurt a single soul. Secretly, I believed it would remain that way. No one else needed to know that, however.

"Sam, stop!" Mother reasoned, looking nervously over her shoulder. "That's enough, now. Put the knife down."

"Get away." I instructed the guard, who backed off slowly, even though his gun was already in arm's reach. The eye contact between the soldier and I never broke off until he repositioned behind my mother.

The thunderous footsteps stopped.

"Well, well." A mechanical voice echoed in the dark. "How brave do you feel, little one, to use that knife? Would you be able to accept accountability; to feel the warm blood of a man stain your hands, to stare into the lifeless gaze you enforced, to carry the weight of guilt that would eventually drag you down into an endless abyss?"

Bane stepped out of the blanket of shadows, larger than life. The giant was, at least, three feet taller than anyone near.

I redirected the blade towards Bane, who slowly approached with intentionally threatening footsteps. "Would your soul…" he continued, "feel clean?"

"S – stay away," I warned wrathfully, though my voice shook in fear.

There was no doubt. I was going to die.

The rebel leader stood mere inches from me, completely unmoved by the weapon. Slowly, a colossal gloved hand reached over and grabbed a hold of the knife, by the blade, and slipped it from my grasp, without looking away for a second from the feeble girl at his front side.

I could not do it… I was too weak… Too weak to protect my own mother.

Bane smelled of sweat and musk. A wall of heat radiated off of the giant, and suddenly the rest of the room felt cold, an unexpected hit of reality. Was death here to take me? Drops of sweat trickled down the sides of my temple and chest - fear induced perspiration. Bane, on the other hand, did not falter for a second. He was unchallenged in strength and intelligence. I had no chance of survival.

"Perhaps not," he spoke more quietly, now that the situation was defused. "But I can."

With that, Bane took a handful of my collar and threw me up against the wall, with the knife grazing the delicate skin of my throat. My head cracked as it met the vertical pavement, and I cried out in pain and panic. Stars filled the room, and the ground began to spin uncontrollably. The physical potency of the knock felt like a tornado pushing a feather. In the process of trying to find an object to serve as a weapon, or an instrument of protection, I knocked over a vase next to me on a table as I reached out, and its shatter on the glossy tiles was muffled in the mental daze.

Mother's protest resonated in the confusion; however it was subdued, as well, by the shock of the hit.

"Bane, stop! She's my daughter," Mother explained, running over to her child in need. "Sam is my daughter." To calm the giant, Mother touched Bane's hand, the one that held the knife, and pulled it away from my neck. "Don't hurt her."

Bane stared into Mother's eyes for a moment, and then turned back to me, eyebrows knitted together, seemingly stunned. He released his iron grasp and left me crumpled on the ground.

"Impossible," he whispered, though most of his voice was lost to the overpowering crackles of the mask.

The lights shook overhead. I could feel the life seeping from the back of my skull like sap running down a tree – sticky, and fragrant.

Bane and Mother knew each other… How could this be? What… did this mean?

The world grew dim.

"My darling," Mother cooed, pulling my weak corpse into her chest. "It's alright. Everything will be fine. Soon you will understand."

Darkness overwhelmed me.

**To Be Continued...**

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**Author's Note:** A big thank you to those who left comments about the previous chapter! I really appreciate the feedback, and it helps encourage me to continue writing. Hope Bane's introduction is satisfactory in this second chapter. I was really nervous about introducing Bane in the right way. He'll be entirely in the next chapter, so look forward to that! :)


	3. The Devil's Den

_"My heart's a coward though my words are brave."_

–Christina Rossetti (Monna Innominata VII)

**City of Ashes**

**Chapter Three: The Devil's Den**

A shiver stemmed from uncomfortable coldness stirred me from a deep sleep. As consciousness leaked behind tired eyes, and into lax lungs, I awoke in to a new world. The walls no longer shook, but the pain embedded profoundly within the back of my skull remained absolute. Pain – the instrument of reality. Without it, life was impossible. This is how I knew that I was still alive, and rather surprised if anything.

There were no windows in the room. Cold, hard, dead cement imprisoned the bed into a small, enclosed space not merely suitable for even one soul to function within. Humidity dripped down from the ceiling onto the floor in soft, rhythmic drops of water, pooling into reflective mirrors. Only a dim lamp shaded the room with a weak glow, barely enough light to guide my senses through the dark. I set my feet on the ground, and retracted immediately, the frigid dampness upon the floor a shock to warmer skin.

When I first stood, the room spun unsteadily for a few seconds, as my tolerance to pain eventually overlapped the pounding in my head from rising too fast. There was a wooden desk and chair across from the bed, with nothing occupying its surface. I searched the drawers, but no objects were hidden inside. Other than the three pieces of furniture, the room was quite unsatisfactory. After all, I was used to living in a grand estate. As a child, I felt like a princess being pampered by servants, but as time went on, the walls of the homestead became prison bars. I wanted to escape and explore the rest of the world that mother always seemed to protect me against.

"Well, here I am…" I whispered softly, each word laced with a sad regret. Had I known that the world would be so dark, I would have stayed away. There was nothing here for me to benefit from, clearly. A weak and mild girl had no place in a violent revolution.

I knelt to the floor, and looked into one of the pools of water than reflected an unfamiliar face. Many people have commented on the physical similarities mother and I shared, such as our facial features. One could say, I was a softer version of mother's hard, defiant, yet beautiful outer appearance. The shape of my face was smaller, and more delicate, with a lesser prominent bone structure. Yet, we both shared wide, sky blue eyes outlined by a set of thick, curled lashes. While mother had full lips, I developed smaller, cherubic versions that added further youthfulness to my likewise seraphic visage. I inherited thick, dark brown hair from my father that began in relaxed rippling waves, and ended in loose curls down to the bottom of my untouched breasts. There was always a pink flush that blossomed on my pale cheeks and lips, more so when I was embarrassed or exuberantly happy. Since mother was part Asian, I also had smooth, hairless skin. What evidently differed from the two of us were our voices. There was a prominent Arabic flare to mother's deeper vocal cords, while mine chimed more finely, like rustling leaves in the wind. Since I was fed on a strict healthy regime of lean meats, vegetables, fruits, and no sugary goods, my body was thin and dainty, but not unhealthily so, and I always imagined my diet to be the reason for my five foot eight frame. Mother explained, however, that I simply inherited father's taller physique.

Nonetheless, the girl that reflected back at me was sickly pale, and a shade of blue settled deep under her eyes. The flush of pink normally on her cheeks had disappeared as if the very life had been drained from beneath the skin. She was tired, and weak.

I never really knew my father – Rupert Tate. He passed away when I was merely a couple of years old, and I blamed myself that father's memory could not be reachable now. All that was told to me was that he was very ill and died from cancer, leaving all of his money and foundation to mother as a parting gift from this world. From the pictures at the estate of mother and father together, and with me as a child, I could tell that he was a very quiet, kind person. The smile he carried was soft, and slightly nervous, and his brown eyes non-judging. Mother served as a fitting parent, but without a father in my life, I felt more vulnerable, and less protected.

In a moment of deep thought, where I knelt staring into the pool of water, passed my reflection and into the depths of my lonely life, a knock at the door sounded from the far reaches of reality.

"You awake?" a muffled voice barely penetrated the thick metal construction of the door. Another knock followed.

I stood up quickly. "Y-yes…" was the only reply manageable through the knot that grew in the middle of my aching throat.

A clatter of metal interaction followed, and soon the door was opened to reveal a young man with a gun in the doorway, holding a key.

"You're…" I gasped, recognizing the intruder in the door. It was the huntsman who chased me in the streets, and ultimately led me to mother… and Bane.

"That's right," he finished with a grin. "You're a slippery one, you are."

He stepped forward, and outstretched a hand. "Barsad."

I hesitated for a moment, staring at the man's gesture with cautious eyes.

"My name… is Barsad," he repeated, returning the hand to his side, untouched.

The man was most likely in his mid-thirties, with scruffy facial hair that hid an otherwise unthreatening, handsome looking face. What was most disturbing was his eyes – a deep blue, and tortured. There was a slight accent in the way Barsad spoke, and I guessed it to be Arabic, just as mother's idiom.

"My name… is Sam," I replied nervously. This was a very awkward introduction.

"You are Talia's daughter, yes?" Barsad questioned with interest, his voice lowering into a careful whisper.

"Talia? I don't know who that is," I answered truthfully. "Who is that?"

Barsad simply smiled, and retained the answer for himself. There was something suspicious in this. My senses were on alert now, watching and listening for any unwelcomed surprises.

"You are being summoned," Barsad continued, stepping aside so that I could exit the room.

"By whom?" I inquired slowly, although quiet devastation already began to pump my heart faster, and entangled my nerves into knots.

"Come on," the soldier insisted, tilting his head towards the door. "Best not to keep him waiting."

I walked out of the room and into a large hallway, stopping for a moment to look around. Barsad nudged my back with his hand to keep us moving, and we traveled down a number of corridors until we reached an opening. The entire building was a maze, each hallway identical to the last. Only memorization served well to those capable of sketching the correct directions through the twists and turns of the labyrinth into their minds. Otherwise, one would be entirely lost.

The rush of water filled the air with a loud, endless burst of sound, drowning all other noise in its mighty wake. A jungle gym of grate flooring and thick metal beams enlaced the open space, with a dyke of water running through the room into a dark tunnel. The ceiling was a dome shape, curving to a point at the top, secured by cement pillars and reinforced steel caging. Hard, bright lamps beamed down on the lair, and grew my eyes sore. On some of the walkways outstretched from end to end of the room, armed men strutted across in heavy artillery and armor. These were no mere rebels. A large income funded this structure, and the weaponry shared generously to each willing recruit. Since there were no windows here either, I began to suspect that this entire area was underground.

"Come here," Barsad instructed calmly, after noticing that I had strayed away to look at the lair more closely. I returned by his side, and followed him to one of the corners of the large room.

There he was.

Muscle - thicker than steel, and hard as rock enveloped Bane's body in overlapping layers under intricately scarred flesh. As the giant breathed, the slow movement of muscle and skin intensified the ripples of impenetrable living armour that clothed an evil soul. Bane was the devil, and this place was his den.

"So, you have finally wakened," Bane announced patently, his back turned against us. The bubbled flesh collected down the entirety of his spine made up an impressive, and harrowing scar. Being that the rebel leader was so lethal to anyone who opposed him, I had to wonder how he became afflicted with such a marking. The crepitation of Bane's mask cracked words into distant sounds, as if the man was speaking through a tube.

I said nothing. Fear found me again, and a loss for words was inevitable.

_Monster._

There was a desk in front of Bane, where he stood typing on an open laptop. Maps of the city and papers were spread on the table, and pasted to the walls made from stacks of silver metal cases. In the corner of the room within a room, was a rather inadequately sized bed that belonged to, no other than, the rebel leader himself. More artificial lighting gave the space a slight blue glow. A curious stack of books lay next to the mattress, titled _Don Quixote_, _Parzival_, and the like. I could not imagine the giant reading leisurely in his free time. What brought the most attention to me, was a blueprint of the lair lying amongst all the other maps. With such a device, I would be able to find my way out of this dungeon.

Bane slowly turned to show his masked face, and bore a penetrating pair of dark eyes down on me. I could feel my very soul being sucked from the flesh. That was the trouble of having large eyes; they were incapable of hiding emotions. What I could not say in words, was revealed through my eyes, and my soul that was so open to interpret.

As he stepped forward, looking over the young girl gifted by Barsad, Bane's footsteps thunderously opposed upon the cement floor, echoing the sheer mass of his frame.

"You look like your mother," Bane implied, rather disgusted. "But you are weak."

I kept my eyes on the rebel leader's scuffed black boots. How many skulls have they crushed?

"Since Talia has left you in my presence, I –" Bane continued, but was quickly interrupted.

"Talia, is that my mother? What have you done with her?" I shouted angrily at the sound of that name again. The passion that led me to protect mother drove my feet forward, and before I knew it, there was but a foot of space between the two of us.

There, I could clearly see the mask that ensnared around the giant's scalp as I stared up at his face for the first time. The tubes that connected to a small ventilator at the mouth resembled monstrous teeth, open to catch unlucky victims with words laced in false allurement, or sentences of death. On each side of the front piece were wide metal bands that hid everything under the cheekbone to the lining of the jaw. There was another band that curved around the top of Bane's head, back down to the nape of his dense neck, although it was ribbed and patched with darker metal fragments. All in all, it was an eccentric accessory to sport on a daily basis. Did the mask have some connection to Bane's massive build? The type of muscular structure the tyrant exhibited was not achieved by physical exercise, but more from a natural standpoint. Bane was large, extensively so, but he bulged muscle in a more unstructured and raw form, rather than what he would have accomplished by intentional bodybuilding.

Without needful verification from others, I already felt useless and pathetic. Bane knew that I did not stand a chance against his guards, and to announce that I was weak aloud served only as a personal attack. All I ever wanted was to be as strong and independent as mother, and felt as though everyone expected the same qualities to be passed down to her kin. Such was not the case.

Angry now, I defied Bane's insult. "No, I am not weak. If you know where my mother is, take me to her. I wish to stay there, instead." Where in the world did this blind courage come from? As soon as the words finished escaping my quivering lips, I regretted ever speaking.

A twitch of annoyance flexed Bane's eyelid, and the silence that followed was almost as deadly as the giant's fist.

"I mean…" I stuttered, lost again in panic.

_I'm so stupid. Any uncontrollable emotions will just get me killed._

Bane glanced over to Barsad, who nodded without a word, and pulled a handgun from his waistband. With a flick of his thumb, the safety trigger was released, and left the weapon open for easy access. The soldier handed the gun to Bane, and the leader passed it openly to me. Against the light, the black artillery glistened like a jewel, but resonated death.

"Your emotions deceive you, little one." Bane disclosed. "Take this gun, if you are so willing to show me strength, and use it."

Surely he did not want me to… To kill someone? I did not take the gun. I could not take the gun. I was no killer.

Bane sighed impatiently. "If you cannot shoot a man to protect those you love, how can I believe that you are not weak?"

"Refusing to kill someone doesn't make me weak. You seek physical courage, but moral courage is stronger," I shuttered, taking a step back from the gun, and Bane.

Barsad grabbed at the back of my shirt as I approached him in reverse, so that I could not run.

"Ah," Bane breathed, a hint of condescending ambience to his tone, "But it is better to be violent, if violence is in our heart, than to wear the cloak of nonviolence to cover impotence."

"You're wrong! Nonviolence means avoiding not only external violence, but also internal violence of the spirit," I attempted to reason with the madman. What good did this argument serve? Bane has managed to recruit so many soldiers under his command by manipulation and lies, so there was no chance for me to easily influence a master of speech with petty words based only on intuition and heartfelt goodness.

"And?" Bane, eager to challenge, retorted my good sense.

I struggled to find the right words. "Violence only appears… to do good. But, t - the good is only temporary. The evil it does is… is permanent. You see?"

"I do." Bane replied in a thoughtful manner. He studied me from afar, his dark eyes aflame with a dangerous curiosity. Bane's response was not an acknowledgment of my reasoning, but rather an affirmation of his own undisclosed thoughts. In any case, the rebel leader must have been impressed by my dumb courage, or challenging theories, but never would he admit such conclusions.

Bane treaded to the jungle gym, without another word, and Barsad pushed me to follow the giant.

"Fargo, come." Bane instructed one of the soldiers guarding the grounds to step forth.

With slight discomfort, Fargo approached his leader, silent and waiting to obey instructions.

I could tell that Bane used fear on his own men to rule them. Even if a soldier did not agree with a decision or opinion, they would be too afraid to use their voice. Leadership is a privilege to better people's lives, not an opportunity to satisfy personal greed. Imagine the good Bane could do for the people. All that he led at this point was anarchy and destruction. Whatever excuse the rebel leader used to cover the truth of his deeds, it cannot make up for the lives lost to his tyranny.

"Let us see how strong your moral courage lasts," Bane contested with challenging eyes, condescending on his final two words, "little one."

He shoved the gun into my chest, and this time I had no choice but to take it. Bane slipped another gun out of his own belt, and pointed it at Fargo, whose eyes grew twice in size.

"Barsad," Bane directed.

Against the side of my head, the coldness of metal pressed gently. I turned slightly to gain a careful look at Barsad, who pointed a gun straight at my temple. Adrenaline rushed into my system, and a sense of immediate panic started a fit of uneven, shallow breaths to grow my head unsteady.

"W-what are you doing?" I stuttered, tensing into a rigid plank of flesh.

Barsad shrugged, bemused. "Orders."

"If," Bane continued, the amused tone evident even in his mechanical voice, "you do not manage to shoot Fargo in ten seconds, Barsad will use his gun to plant a bullet in your head." He pointed to his own temple. These people spoke of ending a life with such ease, such disregard.

"Wait, sir." Fargo hesitated, but as two other soldiers approached and secured the target in place by the arms, he could now not escape.

"Ten," Barsad commenced the countdown.

"No!" I protested, "I can't!"

"He has a weapon pointed at your mother," Bane improvised. "Will you not save her? When the moment matters, will you be able to take the shot?" He was trying to manipulate me into shooting Fargo, but I would not falter.

"Nine."

"Please, I don't want to…" I pleaded, eyes wet with uncontrollable fear. The gun was hard and lifeless in my hand, but as the seconds piled on, my fingers slithered ever closer to the trigger.

"Eight."

A loud, violent bang sounded from one of the guns. For a moment, my heart stopped, and I closed my eyes anticipating the pain to hit.

Fargo screamed in horrible agony, and clenched at his knee as the whole of his body fell on to the floor in a loud clatter. He squirmed around uncontrollably, blood gushing from the bullet wound like a leaking faucet.

I shot my eyes over to Bane, whose gun barrel was pointed at the target, still smoking. No emotion plagued the giant's dark eyes.

Barsad did not waver. "Seven."

I was shocked. "You-you shot one of your own men!" If Bane was capable of killing his own recruits who followed him without question, then imagine what sort of punishment was inflicted on the enemy. And with such passiveness!

"Six."

"Shoot him," Bane insisted monotonously, flickering a set of wild eyes over to me. The maniac revelled in a sick sort of pleasure harming people. I could see it in his eyes that grew frenzied after shooting Fargo in the kneecap. "Or you will die."

"Five."

The other soldiers stationed around the lair stood silent and emotionless, unwilling to help their wounded comrade from Bane's wrath. I looked at them, pleading with desperate eyes for someone to step up and stop the rebel leader from going any further with this twisted game, but no one volunteered.

Bane attempted with great pleasure to toy with my mind, and break the goodness of my heart. "He is suffering, can't you see? Shoot him, and end it."

Fargo lowered to a constant whimpering from the pain, unable to stand from the floor given the area of the injury.

"Four."

I yelped terrified at the second shot. Nearly every nerve that branched under my skin was broken now, and I began to shake irrepressibly.

Fargo howled in agony again, though he had lost most of his energy to the first wound, and so the second cry was less stimulated by the newly found pain. This time, Bane shot the poor soul in the shoulder.

"Three."

"Shoot him!" Bane roared, shaking the very foundations of the lair, and my soul.

"Two."

Fargo looked up at me with weak, frantic eyes. The moment of truth was near.

I did not want to die. The desperation to live was surprisingly overwhelming at the last second of the countdown. So much so, I could not control the movement of my arms as they rose with the gun in hand, and a scream filled with guilt, terror, anger, and desperation rang out of my lungs with such tremendous force as the trigger was pulled.

A shot cut the air into pieces.

_I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…_

I looked up, after having shut my eyes tightly closed in anticipation of the gunshot, and over to where Fargo lay on the ground, still moving.

I missed.

An unsteady smile curled my pale lips at the feeling of welcomed relief. I let the gun fall from loose fingers on to the ground in a heavy clatter, and stepped away from the deadly weapon. This time, I was glad that skill evaded my ability to shoot a gun. No one should have to become an expert at killing, forced or not. But then… The point that Bane wanted to prove, was that I _would_ shoot Fargo eventually, and he was right. The fact that I missed the target did not matter, the intention was there.

The smile disappeared.

Bane strode over to Fargo, who was barely conscious, and before he could finish saying 'Bane', the rebel leader shot him square between the eyes. Fargo fell limp onto the floor, unmoving as live people do, and so eerily still… so very still.

I stood silent for a moment as shock stole my breath, and when it finally leaked back into my lungs, it came through as an uncontrollable cry of anguish. Bane studied my face, and the unfamiliar emotions I exhibited, and then turned away indifferent.

"Take his body and burn it," Bane instructed to the two soldiers who had originally held Fargo in place. The two followers nodded quickly, and dragged the pale, blood spattered corpse from the ground through a doorway. Like a snail slithering across the earth, Fargo's blood painted a red line after the body, staining my memory forever more.

"Why?" I blubbered, "Why would you do this?" Without any more energy to give, I fell on to the ground, my knees too weak to carry the burden of guilt.

"I did not do this," Bane justified, looking down at me with shining dark eyes. "Your intention to live clearly outlasted any sense of moral courage. It always does."

How dare he put the blame on me! I was forced with a gun to my head, and expected to willingly die? There was no clean escape. Either I was to perish, or Fargo. In the moment, I thought that another route could have been taken, a form of reasonable understanding that everyone could comply to… Words! But what good did words serve! Bane had control over the situation the entire time, and I was simply a short-lived sense of amusement. Life was just a game to him!

"No!" I cried out in a newfound rage, climbing to my feet and charging the giant.

I dreamed of mother and father. We were sitting under a tree in the summertime, with a picnic that lay open in the warm sun. Eyes crinkled at the corners, lips curled into smiles, teeth glinted in the light – everyone was happy. Father scooped a spoonful of chocolate pudding and touched it to mother's nose playfully, and we all laughed.

Suddenly, the image began to fade and overlap until it was indistinguishable. The sound of rushing water and heavy feet upon metal flooring echoed loudly in my ears, every octave a beat to the inners of my skull. As if waking from a beautiful dream, I refused to open my eyes for the first few moments in hopes that I would drop back to sleep. Instead, the assailing sounds and foreign feelings grew more prominent, and so I unglued my eyelids to see what had changed, and why.

The touch of cold, dead metal grated hard against the palm of my hand as I felt around the floor, of which I was laying on. Not until I truly concentrated, did I realize that the gasps and moans I heard were birthing from the depths of my own throat. There was a pain… No, an agonizing pain that throbbed mercilessly in the gut of my stomach, and I turned onto my side to clench it for comfort. The water overhead that dripped down from the ceiling drenched my hair into collective chunks, though its refreshing coldness further aroused me from unconsciousness. I looked up to the ceiling, and at first I did not recognize its physical nature, but as time spent my memory resurfaced from the bowels of darkness.

"Get up," A familiar mechanical voice croaked from above, with such mocking disdain, under blinding light.

It was Bane. That much I knew. When the pain in my stomach died slightly, I felt strong enough to climb onto my elbows, and then my knees. The slow transition to my feet took almost a minute, but I finally staggered upright. As my stomach muscles stretched vertically, I pressed upon them to relieve the pain again.

The line of my sight finally focused, and the image of Bane stood only inches from me. I touched my face, feeling something foreign stick to the skin, and looked at my hand afterwards to see matters of Fargo's blood and brains glisten a reddish pink on my trembling fingers. Horrified by the discovery, I wiped the matter on to my clothes, whimpering at the thought of having touched such things.

"You will learn to obey me," Bane shook in my reverberating eardrums, and his image tremored as each crackling sound leaked from the snarling mask so smoothly. He slipped a hand around my throat, without squeezing any fingers, and looked into mine eyes with a deathly calmness. "Or, your mother will die. Do you understand?"

I will not be controlled. If one of Bane's men was so easily and unreasonably killed, then it was only a matter of time before the same fate would find me.

"You should be… the one lying on the ground now." I shuttered beneath Bane's hot fingers. "You're a monster. Why don't you just kill me?"

Something flashed for a moment in Bane's eyes. "Don't tempt me," He warned, each word carefully and slowly pronounced, and pushed me by the throat into a couple of armed guards. "Take her back to the room."

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**Author's Note: **Wow! That was pretty hardcore. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Bane's a real party pooper, isn't he? Please leave a comment, or suggestions, for me! I'm getting into exam period now, so I might not be able to post chapters as quickly as I'd like, but please bear with me. I'll still keep working on this story when time permits me!

Thanks again for reading!


	4. The Hunt

_A shot in the dark,_

_A past lost in space._

_Where do I start?_

_The past, and the chase,_

_You hunted me down_

_Like a wolf, a predator,_

_I feel like a deer in your lights._

-David Guetta ft. Sia ('She-Wolf')

**City of Ashes**

**Chapter Four: The Hunt**

The snow must be falling by now. A quiet whisper on the wind, a telling of near change - I remembered feeling a cool air seep into an unprepared world wrought by fire and new death. Winter wrapped exposed land with a quiet blanket of calm and stillness, able to freeze time into a singular snapshot of a white wasteland once teeming with warmth and life. That is what I wanted; to frost over the bestial hunger that burned angry hearts, and misguided minds. The horrors I have seen, this could not be what truly lies within the core of each human being – a primal destructive drive? Behind the corner of the conscious mind, did the ability to kill stir and waken at the smell of opportunity? I fought to believe in such haunting realizations.

A deep, penetrating chest pain incessantly bore a hole evermore through my heart – guilt. The image of Fargo's desperate, drawn eyes defiled the peace in my mind, tearing away at flesh and bone to reveal a diminished soul. Out of all the efforts made in the moment to withstand Bane's manipulation, I failed. The tyrant was right, even though I missed Fargo with the gun, the intention to shoot and kill was unmistakable. Deep down, in the primal layers of human biology, did we still fight for our _own_ survival? Bane, was he truly a monster, or did the man simply have a more reasonable grasp on the raw truth?

"No, he's wrong," I whispered hard, and hit the bed with a frustrated fist. What was most frightening, was that I found it difficult to convince myself otherwise; that people were originally good, and that the horrors of the world simply unsighted some eyes from reason, but did not take it away entirely from regained possibility. No matter how corrupt the heart became, no matter the state of blindness some people faced, goodness always remained – a light in the dark. _That_ I had to believe. If I lost hope in humanity just as Bane has done, what was left to preserve the longing to live on? Hope is an antidote for fear; a beacon calling all lost souls at sea to beckon its deliverance. To resign from the world and your own possibilities to help better humankind, I could not imagine how the rebel leader could do it. Certainly, I was not going to give in to the darkness Bane offered so willingly, so knowingly. Even if Fargo's hands were not clean in this revolution, I saw the innocence of fear and vulnerability in his eyes before I pulled the trigger – the possibility for forgiveness. If people were strong enough to conquer their uncertainties instead of battling against them for a lifetime, eventually growing tired and angry, then they would be at peace. The world was currently plagued with an overwhelming fear that, up until now, no one but the Batman has braved. One man cannot take on the world; he needs comrades, allies, or a fellow army of supporters to conquer this growing evil.

Too long have I sat in the shadows, watching opportunity pass by. I had to fight.

The room was cold and damp, stashing unrecycled air between its four walls. With a wound to the base of the skull, and a bruised stomach, I could hardly control the pain with simple mental meditations, and the failed efforts were physical; a sweat that drenched my skin in a slick gloss. At the same time that I felt like passing out from a dizzy sensation, I also fought down a ball of vomit from climbing the walls of my esophagus.

No. I had to learn to control pain – master it. Surely this would not be the last time that Bane would attack me for defying his orders, and so I had to learn to deny the rebel leader from enjoying the process of torture as well. How satisfying would it be to look Bane in the eyes with cuts and bruises all over, without reacting at all to the pain – a way to expose his efforts to break me as being only skin deep, and no more profound. I would show him true strength.

The only pieces of clothing that shielded me from the biting cold, as it slowly gnawed through the fabric, was my blue jeans –now ripped-, a white tank top covered with a hooded red cardigan. Hopelessly stained with blood, dirt, and ashes, I never felt more unclean. Maybe it was Bane's idea to make his prisoner as uncomfortable as possible, so as to weary every part of her body, mind, and soul.

Not only did I have to conquer pain, but fear too. The ability to overcome all apprehensions would definitely give an upper hand against Bane, or any other situation. At the point where I would allow fear to dominate my dreams, I would permit it to grow bigger than the faith in myself. This I swore would never happen.

The process of Bane's toxicity would be a slow, agonizing poisoning of the body and mind. There had to be a way for me to get out – to escape. I could run fast. If only I could evade the labyrinth back into daylight, I could find Batman, or anyone willing to fight the rebels, and make a retaliation plan. The possibility of the idea becoming reality gave me hope. Hope… I felt its warmth. How welcoming the sensation was in my heart.

There was a light knock at the door, and my thoughts quickly dispersed.

On the bed, in the corner between two walls, I leaned my back against the hard surface, knees tucked tightly against my chest. I did not answer the door, nor verbally granted permission to enter, and instead remained a silent body in the shadows - waiting.

The door opened slowly, and Barsad stepped into the near darkness.

A plate of food was set on the desk, though I was not hungry. The end result of consuming anything at this point would not end in the cleanest of ways.

"I brought you something to eat," he announced simply, glancing over to me for only a moment. "Bane is cruel, yes, but he is not so much that he would let a young girl starve in his care." Then, of all things, Barsad chuckled. "If chance was granted, he would just shoot you to save the food, and time."

I shifted uncomfortably, and looked away from the soldier. Why did Barsad bother talking to me at all? After we first met, I could tell that Bane's underling was not wholly cruel and heartless. But, how deep did that theory go? When he told me his name at the beginning, the gesture seemed genuine. Moreover, on every account of physical touch or guidance, the soldier never used aggressive behaviour. There was more to these similarities than simple coincidence. A spark of genius struck, and I controlled my emotions and movements.

Barsad could tell that I was not amused by the joke, and his smile faded. After the order of delivering food was complete, there was no other reason for the soldier to stay, and so Barsad made a move towards the door without another word.

I had to think fast. "Why are you nice to me?" I asked with quiet innocence, the words muffled against my knee. Timidly, I turned up my eyes, wet with artificial tears, to look at the soldier.

Barsad stopped at the door, and turned to study me. For a moment, he said nothing, words twitching with uncertainty on his lips. "You remind me of my younger sister, Lizbeth." A glint of sadness wetted the usual impassive gloss in Barsad's eyes, that every soldier seemed to possess, and I saw then a different man. "Young, vulnerable, and dangerously passionate about the goodness in people," he continued, almost grinning at the remembrance of past memories.

"Where is she?" I asked, outwardly interested.

Barsad looked away. "She's dead."

A silence grew between us.

"I'm sorry, Barsad." I finally said, genuinely saddened by the news, though not enough to deter my thoughts by sympathy. Maybe I was lucky in some way that I only had mother as family, and no more. How would I be able to emotionally and mentally survive the death of an entire family? The thought was haunting.

Barsad accepted the condolence with a nod, and moved towards the door again.

"Wait!" I shouted urgently, throwing my hand up to gesture Barsad to halt. The soldier watched as I climbed off the mattress, and walked carefully to the end of the bedpost. "Why is Bane keeping me here? Please – please tell me." There was no point in asking the rebel leader himself, lest I get another assault to the stomach, or belittled with insults.

The soldier gave me a hard, calculating stare. "You are Talia's precious daughter." Before I had the chance to respond, or ask further questions, Barsad fled from the room, mostly likely tired of answering queries that could ultimately damage his chances of living if someone were to find out he was leaking potentially sensitive information, and the door was closed.

As soon as Barsad left the room, I silently slipped over to the door and listened for the key to lock the barricade in place, but no such familiar noise occurred.

.

.

.

**"**Talia… Talia…" I repeated over and over again, familiarizing the name into memory. How is it that my mother is known to others by this title, and I, being her daughter, have never heard of it before?

Obviously, Bane took mother captive and forced her to use company funds to build the lair and supply his army with weaponry. The only reason I could fathom Bane keeping me alive, was that if I were to be killed, mother would not comply with the orders set in place for her by the rebel leader. I was content with this determination.

Hours passed before I reproached the door. My hand hesitated over the rusted knob, but I swallowed the fright that drummed my heart hard against the wall of my chest, and turned it to the right. I expected the doorknob to halt somewhere in between the spin, but soon it reached a 360 degree angle, and the door budged. My plan worked! In the height of all the questioning and uncomfortable answers, Barsad forgot to lock the door in a moment of emotional distraction. Sure, the blunder was a bit surprising coming from Bane's underling, but I was not about to complain about the fortunate mistake. Who would ever think that I had the courage to attempt an escape, anyhow.

Very carefully, I opened the door and, as it moaned in protest to being disturbed from its place, I listened for voices or footsteps. Nothing. There was no chance that all of the guards were asleep, but perhaps great deals of them were resting, or outside of the lair, while only a few remained to keep watch. After all, the rebels preyed on the innocent peoples of Gotham City, so it made sense that they would stalk the night like animals undetected.

Was this a good idea – to attempt an escape? Probably not. I was desperate to flee Bane's wrath, and so the idea of staying was too great a risk to take, while this potentially singular opportunity presented itself to me. Besides, I felt brave enough at the moment, which time might ultimately extinguish. What were the chances of a girl like me surviving this revolution alive? Not very good, for sure, but if I was to go down, it would be with a fight. That much I could guarantee.

So far, so good. The watch on my wrist clocked in at 1:32 AM, and there did not seem to be anyone in the tunnels. Sound was a deadly giveaway to my position, so the fact that Bane took my shoes –for an unexplainable reason- ended up being an advantage. I stepped quietly across the cement floor, my soft feet soundless against the hard ground, as I listened intently for the familiar sound of rushing water. Left. Right. Right. Left. Left… As time pressed on, and the lair's main area was still unfound, I began to feel the memorable creep of fear. Where was it? I should have found the room by now…

Then, the smell of water filled the air. I stepped faster to the approaching rush of the dyke, careful to remain in the shadows. There were six men that I saw touring the lair's circumference as I peeked around the corner of the final turn into the room. Bane was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was out looking to cause more destruction. Not for long. Not while I still had fight left to give. If I shimmied against the wall, in the dark, since the lamp lights created greater shadows against their great light, then maybe the soldiers would not see me. I had to get the map of the tunnels. Otherwise, the maze made from the branches of channels would be the end of all things.

The rushing water, as it hit the lower level of the dyke, plumed out in a cloud of mist. There, I hid, until all eyes were deterred from the zone, and then I slipped closer to Bane's corner area. Would the rebels shoot if they spotted me below? Did Bane ban any life threatening violence against me? The cruelty of the rebel leader was not going to be forever contained, if he was, at all, making an effort now to preserve my life. Mother was still in danger, too. Once we were reunited, I would smuggle her out of the city, and then the effort to form an army of righteous soldiers would begin, with the help of Batman. Together we could make a difference. I will know where Bane's secret underground lair is hidden once I escape, an obvious advantage to any enemy of the rebel leader, and Batman could lead an assault on the undercover den thereafter. Everything seemed to be going according to –

_No. No! This can't be!_

There was Bane, sitting on the bed, and leaning against the wall – asleep. The image of quiet eyes almost gave the illusion of peace on the rebel leader's face, but it was an obvious deception. In the dark cave slept a large bear that, if awakened, would tear the flesh and bone from my limps to satisfy its thirst for blood. The map of the tunnels was still on the table next to the bed. I was so close. Turning back now would only deplete my efforts, and another opportunity to escape might never occur a second time.

"Please… Please…" I whispered, desperate to keep from disturbing the giant's slumber, as I reached over to slip the map from under a closed laptop. As I tugged at the corner of the paper, the laptop tagged along for the ride. I confronted the computer with a silent, bold 'no', but it did not seem to listen. Quickly, I turned my eyes to the soldiers stalking the grounds, but they still had not caught a whiff of my scent. On the other hand, Bane was the one that I was most afraid of. For a moment, I imagined him ripping my flesh off like a coat, and stringing my exposed body up to dry off one of the metal beams as an example of punishable defiance. Failure was not an option.

Some kind of miracle granted the map to successfully leave the table into my hands without crashing the laptop to the ground with careful, patient guidance. I wanted to cheer aloud, but the impulse I quickly suppressed. For such a large person, I expected Bane to snore, or make a startling sound through the mask as he slept, but nothing other than a soft hush, like a muffled version of the falling water, escaped the gnarling metal mouth. He almost seemed normal… At peace, maybe. The air was colder at night, even though the lair was underground, which explained why Bane was wearing a tight fitting black top, and his regular cargo pants, instead of exposing any upper body skin. The metal bands that clung so tightly around Bane's head, it could not be comfortable to wear to bed. The only explanation I conceived for such a move, was that the rebel leader was attempting to hide a facial deformity, giving the dedication he made towards keeping the mask on. Out of all of the scars, the one that aligned down the spine, and the grandest of them all, gained the most curiosity. Bane must have had a difficult life. But… that did not mean that he had to be evil. I knew that, and so did he.

At last, I turned to leave the lair with the map now in hand. A sense of accomplishment could not help but form a small smile on my lips. Phase one: get the map – complete. Phase two: escape the lair – in progress.

What I did not realize was lying on the ground, while I was busy looking over the map, it blinding any clear vision of the flooring, was a pile of grenades. The sound of metal clatter reverberated clearly over the rushing water, as my foot contacted the roadblock, and I stopped dead. Blood pumped wildly in the thin walls of my veins, ready to burst, as did my heart, when the grenades finally settled. I did not want to look. The thought of those frenzied eyes… I would be killed too quickly to even see them.

There was a disruption in the rhythmic breathing of Bane's mask, and sheets rustled softly under physical disturbance. He was awake.

I looked around quickly, and saw a handgun on the table. Before sense found me, I grabbed the weapon with surprising speed, and spun around to meet the woken cave bear. Fear dug its claws deep into my pumping flesh, determined to stay put.

Bane sat at the edge of the bed with an unmoving stare on the gun.

"Don't think I won't use this," I stammered, shoving the weapon in the air. There was no mistake, a plethora of signals exposed my terrified state – shaking hands, stuttering speech, dilated eyes, and pale skin. Bane could smell fear a mile away, like a shark could sense a wounded fish in the water. What I felt from holding the gun, a sense of safety and warranty, was sickening. In all honesty, I wanted to throw the weapon on to the ground at the moment of realizing such a false belief of power, but without the artillery I would surely be doomed.

As I spoke, Bane flicked his eyes from the weapon to me without delay. "I have no doubt that you could use that gun," he admitted willingly, not a drop of falsehood in his voice, which slurred slightly from being awakened suddenly from sleep. "You've shown this ability already."

_Fear has a large shadow, but he himself is small in the wake of courage_, I thought, and the trembling of my hand weakened. Was I really prepared to shoot a gun again? The emotional and mental toll it took on me when I shot at Fargo was almost unbearable. Bane was different. Even in the face of death, the giant would never cast over the animalistic fire in his eyes for a more insecure expression. Could he be an exception to the rules? To inflict death upon people, that was not my place to decide. Even when I plan to join Batman, I do not know if I would be capable to kill anyone even then. In the corner of my mind, I knew that at this time, when the world was in so much chaos, no one can hope to keep innocence forever – but did I have to lay down compliantly in defeat?

"Ah," Bane uttered more awake, quick to catch my attempt to calm excited nerves with dark observant eyes. "I see you found the map. Clever girl." With one hand flat on the mattress, Bane started to push himself off of the bed to stand.

"Don't! Don't get up," I instructed, and watched the giant seat slowly back down on the mattress.

"Hey, what are you doing!" A voice called out from above, and I looked up to see one of the guards had spotted me from the metal bridge strung across the higher parts of the lair. The whistleblower called out to the other soldiers, and they all made a run for the stairs. I knew better than to look away from Bane. The giant could not be trusted for a second away from the line of sight. The sound of heavy footsteps thundered across the floor in my right ear as I was turned away, and out of fear my hands squeezed tight with anticipation at the knowledge of who was behind the incoming assault.

A shot rang out.

I looked back at Bane, who clasped his shoulder, blood spatter scattered in a range of red dots across the span of his wide clothed chest, and neck. Shock flashed through the giant's eyes and elevated eyebrows for a moment, as he stood staring at the fresh wound, but it quickly morphed into a burning anger as he slowly looked over at me.

"I…" The gun felt like a hundred pound weight strapped in my fingers, and I could not help but stare back into the rebel leader's terrifying transfix with a surprise of my own accord. "I didn't mean…"

Just as Bane was going to lung at me with a barely containable rage, I pointed the gun at him again, well aware of its power now. He stopped. I clenched the map in my hand tightly, and backed away from the angry giant. "If you follow me, I'll shoot." Before long, the guards would descend from the bridge above, and meet their leader with an assault on the girl who managed to shoot Bane – The Bane. Steadily, I backed up towards the tunnels, always watching the massive ball of uncontrollable energy gather like a tempered lightning storm. His pupils were enlarged, like a tiger stalking a prey, ready to pounce and slaughter.

Bane breathed heavily, with swollen veins that opened passage for hot blood to travel and tight fists that squirmed unsteadily, in an effort to control his anger, but the upset of emotion was clear. His shoulder was bleeding profusely down the left breast, which did not seem to matter; all that was important was that the girl who shot him needed to die. Before I turned the corner, I paused and said "I can't do evil. Not like you. I don't know… how different being good can be, but I will make the effort, and that's… more of a difference than you can make." Without any time to lose, I sprinted down the left corridor. The blueprint mapped a path as left, right, right, left, right, left, left, right, left out of the labyrinth. Seeing the route now, I knew that without the map, I would have gotten endlessly lost.

I felt like a deer being chased by a hunting party of wolves, obviously weaker than the predators, but speed was an ally that would gain the upper hand in this game. Bane was at the head of the pack. On the hard ground, my feet slapped painfully fast as they carried me down each hallway. At times, I ran straight into the wall as I prepared to turn the sharp corners; I could not control the speed that accelerated my legs with unsurpassed urgency, but then I would push off the surface and continue without hesitation. Fresh air, I could feel it just beyond reach. The smell of the open world fueled the fire, and I felt stronger just as my lungs were weakening. Hope… I felt hope.

Finally, I reached a large, dark opening. There were ridges on the ground, thin strips of metal, and then I realized that it was a subway tunnel. There were lights to the right, and I followed them. No one occupied the passageway. The station had been closed. Impressive. Bane managed to shut down the biggest mode of transportation from the people. Lucky for me, I did not have to worry about being pummeled by any trains. A set of stairs stretched up to the streets, and I almost tripped on the ascent, mostly from exhaustion.

I could see the ashen sky. Sparkling snowflakes floated gently down to coat the earth in a soft, white blanket. Time was more still here. The crisp air was a welcomed relief to the damp, humid prison I was subject to for… I do not know how long.

The onslaught of angry shouts echoed up the stairs, shaking the darkness below with a livid force. The wolves were approaching fast. Lost in my newly found feeling of liberation, I was quickly shaken free by an alarming reality, and I continued to run aimlessly down a quiet street. Sharp, stinging pain shot up the base of my bare feet; broken glass sprawled across the street like flattened diamonds, glimmering against the blurred sun, and I hissed at the bleeding cuts. Bloody footsteps left breadcrumbs for wolves to sniff out. There was a collection of motorcycles by the entrance of the subway tunnel, and at first I figured that they had been abandoned a long time ago, but as the sound of rumbling thunder grew increasingly loud behind me, I knew that Bane now had speed as an advantage too.

To remain on the streets while his pack now had bikes to catch up on their prey, was a bad move. There were plenty of buildings to escape into, but the men were at such a close distance, that I would not be able to slip away unnoticed. For a quick moment, I thought of tossing the map to the ground, having no immediate use for it, but then I remembered that Batman might need it to find the lair. The paper was an important tool. There was no way I was going to give it up to the rebel leader so easily.

On the left, a bar with a broken front window looked advantageous, and I ran diagonal across the street to jump through the jagged glass opening. Once inside, I slid behind the counter and picked up an empty whiskey flask to stuff the map inside, like a secret message bottle, and positioned it at the back of a lower shelf. Most of the filled alcohol was stolen, a crime made easy during a state of chaos, but there were unfilled glass containers scattered everywhere on the floor, so I scrambled to hide the concealed map behind a distraction of disinteresting vacant bottles. On completion, I ran to the back of the building, and through another exit that led to a shaded alleyway. Before Bane would grow suspicious as to the reason why I suddenly lost possession of the map, I had to distract the attention of the giant away from the bar. There was only one option. I looked down the left side of the alley, which led back onto the street where Bane lingered with his soldiers, and then down the right, where I had the chance to escape the rebel leader all together through a chain of pathways between structures. Consequently, the latter choice meant that the rebels might search the bar for their prey, and accidently come across the map, while I went to find Batman with no assurance of my good will.

I bent over, and clenched my legs with shaking hands. Not only was the chase enough of a stress to weaken my body physically to the point of malfunction, but the realization of what I had to do – become a distractive bait; a complete hindrance to all the efforts made to escape in the first place – was utterly daunting. The sacrifice had to be made. Somehow, I had to get the message to whatever allies that I had custody of an important tool to overcome the crime lord Bane. Slowly, I stood straight, and breathed deeply in meditation. There was a near quiet in the air, with only the voices of the enemy in the distance, and I honed in on the comfort of that peaceful unsound before all Hell would break loose. Then, a quick ferocity swept my feet from stillness into a fast locomotion to the opening of the street, where light was brighter, but my future darker than ever.

A moment of silence filled everyone as I came into sight again, after a sudden disappearance, and I scanned the unsuspecting pack for Bane. The alpha wolf stepped to the front of the group as the omegas parted like the Red Sea, and even from a distance of twenty feet, I could still feel a vindictive stare burn through the cool air. A familiar maniacal rage pulled Bane's eyes further from humanity into the animal kingdom, as he locked on to his prey with an uncontrollable hunger; a frustrated growl seeping out of the mask in an opaque cloud of frosty steam. We both stood with eyes locked for a long five seconds. I was on the edge of all things, hovering; before I would take the plunge into the deep dark. The comfort of safety had to be let go, and I had to adopt the unknown.

_Courage is being scared to death… And striving forward anyway. _

The fiery exchange was finally broken when I turned around and ran in the opposite direction of the wolf pack. All that remained in the wake of winter silence was the crunching footsteps in fresh snow, trebling breaths, and rumbling engines as they closed in on the final moments of the hunt – before the kill.

As Bane grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me off the ground, into the entrapment of an iron arm, I screamed. The alpha wolf finally succeeded in catching its game alive, for a fresher consummation to be made later in the den. I beat against the impenetrable flesh that encircled around my underarms and over my chest, but no efforts made a dint to the meaty chain. Below, the road rushed quickly by in a constant blur, and I pulled my dangling feet on to the bike before they were filed down to a point.

Without warning, Bane slammed on the breaks, and I nearly turned into a bloody smear on the ground as the force violently jerked our frames forward. But it was too late. An explosion sent the bikes flying through the air as though they weighed that of feathers, and the riders with them. I landed on the road with a sickening crunch, and an inconceivable pain shattered the nerves around my shoulder into fragments. A murderous scream shook the walls of my throat as I shifted weight off of the dislocated shoulder blade, and on to my back. The sky shook in and out of focus, as I lay with weak eyelids staring upwards in a state of shock. Never have I felt such agony.

A blaze of gunfire turned the air in to a deadly exchange of sharp metal projectiles bent on tearing flesh and bone.

"There's Bane! Get him!"

"Watch out! Watch out! They're flanking the left side!"

"Jesus, Tom! Somebody get the medical kit over here!"

"Die, you fucking bastards!"

Maybe it was shock that quickly disconnected the brain to any receiving nerves around the injured shoulder, or perhaps I was getting better at mastering pain, but in a moment of numbness I decided to get up and survey the situation. I held my upper arm so as not to move the dislocated joint, and staggered on to unsteady feet.

The scene was gruesome. Men shot at each other with artillery that popped and cracked in the air with an ear-piercing forcibility, flashing fire at the nozzle as triggers were pulled. Everyone looked the same – friend and foe. Most of the motorcycles had been damaged beyond repair, thrown and crushed against harder surfaces to leave them broken and ablaze on the road. Dead stares looked up at me from the ground with foggy, hollow eyes, and soon the macabre of reality tremored the protective walls around my conscience. A river of blood cooled down the descending angle of the street, glistening red like liquefied rubies on the white snow.

A mechanical growl rumbled behind me, and I turned around to find Bane tearing away at unfortunate victims of his mighty fury. There were cuts and severe gashes all over the rebel leader's body, some of which still had glass embedded deep in the skin, and all of them bled profusely.

_So, he really is human…_

The desperate want to be anywhere than this bloody battle zone led me to call out to Bane in an unnatural shrill. I felt like a child; vulnerable, and useless. Even now, I could not understand the violence of this world and its purpose.

The giant twisted his bloodied face my way, eyes alive with the thrill to kill, and for a moment it seemed as though he did not recognize me. In one hand, he held the back of a man's head by the hair, and with the other he reached up and pushed on the person's face, winding the neck, until a sickly crack grew the body limp.

A hot pain pierced the lower flesh of my back, and I looked down to find a red stain growing in size on my stomach. Confused, I touched the liquid vitality, and it ran down my fingers, leaving a translucent trail behind. I shuttered, mouth agape, and looked up at Bane with a shaken dismay. Weakened further by the new bullet wound, I fell on to my knees, completely taken aback by the thought of having actually been shot. The pain was not as I expected – a scorching, throbbing sensation, but nowhere near the sharp, infiltrating hurt in my shoulder.

Just as the end seemed near, when the air calmed, and the echoes of screams and gunfire quieted into the backdrop of the peaceful unsound, hot hands touched against my cooler flesh, and I was uplifted from the ground. The security of arms led me to press my head against a muscular chest; less uncomfortable than a pillow, but more welcome than the bloody cement. Now, I was unafraid to let unconsciousness take me away to a faraway land, where I walked through the doors of the countryside estate into the loving arms of my mother and father.

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**Author's Note: **Ugh. This chapter took forever to write. Just as I was getting near the end, I finally realized that I did not like the way the chapter was going, so I ended up rewriting it as this version. I also was experiencing the dreaded writer's block, until I started listening to _She-Wolf_, and suddenly the song inspired me to write most of this segment.

Hope you liked this chapter! I think it turned out well. It's funny, I didn't realize that a lot of my writing rhymed until I read it out loud.

PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS, SUGGESTIONS, OR QUESTIONS. (All of which make me very happy!)

-Olivia :)


	5. Lightning Strikes

_What if this storm ends?_

_And I don't see you_

_As you are now_

_Ever again_

_…_

_Just for a minute_

_The silver forked sky_

_Lit you up like a star_

_That I will follow_

_…_

_Painted in flames_

_All peeling thunder_

_Be the lightning in me_

_That strikes relentless_

-Snow Patrol ('The Lightning Strikes')

**City of Ashes**

**Chapter Five: Lightning Strikes**

I choked on the dark, overwhelmed by its eternal sea. Void filled my tired lungs with quiet, blackness stained my pale flesh with nothingness, shadow swallowed light – and I sank towards the netherworld.

A spark of heat seared my flesh, and I screamed with no sound. Pain hooked on to my aching bones, pulling me into an ascent, and I outstretched my hand to find light through the surface.

As I slipped in and out of consciousness, the image of Bane's colossal frame loomed over me like a storm cloud blocking out the sun – tempered, and dangerous. No longer were the two of us on the streets, dodging gunfire. Where I was exactly, was unknown.

The giant grazed hot fingers over my dislocated shoulder, and watched as I writhed with an uncontrollable agony – curving my back off of the floor, and clenching my hands into pain outlets. Blue eyes observed me with an unforeseen calm. Blood covered Bane's face as if he had been assaulted by a bucket of red paint, and for this diametric juxtaposition, I did not trust him still– despite the fact that the rebel leader was the one who saved me from a sudden demise. The truth was a destructive force; what covered Bane's face did not belong to him.

Gently, he firmed a grip around my arm, and said with little sympathy, "This will hurt."

"No… No, please." I breathed heavily, shallowly, and as I spoke, the giant watched the words struggle on my colorless lips. No more hurt. No more sufferance. Another bout of pain would fling me back into the dark abyss, a place of utter nothingness, and silent despair. All that I wanted was rest – a moment of peaceful seclusion from the violent reality of the world.

The fixture of bone into socket, as a desensitized Bane jerked my arm up and to the left, was enough to shut down my staggering conscience. My mind screamed, but no one heard its cry.

.

.

.

Unknown time passed before I awoke again, groggy and terribly thirsty. A groan of discomfort displaced the dry patch in my throat, and upon opening swollen eyelids to view a change in landscape, I felt the warmth of a crackling fire. There was a throbbing in my head, which suggested that I had slept for too long, despite a tired body necessitating otherwise. Somehow, I ended up in a living room, lit only by roaring yellow flames that manipulated shadows to dance on the walls. There I was, lying on the couch with a blanket thrown over me to shelter warmth underneath, with no noticeable pain. All that remained to cause agitation was a bit of stiffness that could easily be rectified with a little movement. I revelled in the newfound alleviation for a few moments, before shifting into a seated position against the arm of the chesterfield. No inability grew my shoulder useless, and I prodded the skin of the area in amazement. Next, I lifted my shirt to observe the bullet wound that had pierced through my lower back, and exited through the stomach. A large patch of gauze and tape covered the wound from open air and potential infection, and I browsed over the bandaged region with a careful curiosity. A scar would eventually form; a marked memory.

After a moment, I stood on to unsteady feet, wobbling with uncertainty before finally regaining equilibrium. The blanket was thrown over my body as I walked about the room, and it trailed on the floor like a royal cape. With a concentrated determinism, I staggered over to the broad windows that spanned across an entire wall, overlooking a suspended Gotham; hovering above total annihilation by a thread. The streets, the buildings, the air were all so eerily still, as if time had suspended the moment in order to preserve the last morsel of a city nearly completely enshrouded in forgotten shadows. Flakes of snow danced in the ashen sky, swirling in excited circled towards the ground, and the chilled wind shook the windows with a light playfulness. The atmosphere was tainted by opaque smoke, smog looming over the buildings and swallowing the light of the sun.

I breathed a hot bout of air against the window, and traced a small heart on the surface that had formed a patch of translucent white. The fragile glass squeaked under the delicate touch of a single finger, and soon the picture faded into nothingness; its identity unknown to everyone but me.

A sigh exhaled tiredly out of my lips, almost trembling, and suddenly I felt anger. The sensation rose like an approaching flame, warm at first, and then blistering the skin with a hot, wild fire.

I _hated_ him. I _hated_ this dark world. I _hated_ being weak… scared… alone… useless.

Tears hovered in the corners of my eyes, and I furiously wiped them away with the back of my hand. No more tears. A scream pushed at my lungs, a harsh cry, but I held the caged animal down– it stalking back and forth restlessly. Instead, I pulled the blanket closer to my body for warmth, and comfort.

Then, muffled voices sounded quietly in the room on the other side of the fireplace. I recognized them both. With a stealthy execution, I slipped over to the closed door and pressed an ear hard against its surface for better reception.

"Why did you not rid of her when the chance was given? The gunshot wound would have proven fatal if left alone, but you saved her. Why?" Mother expressed with an angry stupefaction, her rushed words catching on the accent.

"She reminds me of you," Bane said in a low crackle, slowly and cautiously. The drag in words made the mechanical voice sound humanly tired.

"But she isn't me, my friend. Don't you see? Sam is weak. Such was obvious at an early age. Her father was the same. Weakness was bred into her very bones. That is why I never cared to train her in the League of Shadows. She is nothing to worry over."

"She is what you would have been…"

Mother laughed mockingly, the tone ice cold. "If I didn't end up in the pit, and retained my innocence instead? You are stuck on fancies, my friend, not reality. What good does it do to dwell on a life that doesn't exist, cannot exist?"

"She is not the one who is trying to prove her worth to a dead father," Bane shot back with words of poison. "What is the point of dying in this putrid mire with these people? Why do we not… the two of us…"

Thunderous footsteps walked across the creaking floorboards.

"Bane, please. You know this. Our feelings… We mustn't."

"Is it… the mask?" Bane hesitated. For the first time, I heard doubt in the leader's voice, an anomaly of character, to be certain. It came as a humble shock.

There was a short recess of sound, and then a violent crash emanated from the room; as if glass had been thrown against the wall and shattered.

"I'm sorry, my friend." Mother's voice was gentle, but no real sympathy was found under the surface of her words. "Truly."

"What of the girl?" Bane finally said after an uncomfortable pause, his voice recomposed and hard.

"Use her as you would see fit. Perhaps… she can occupy your thoughts instead, so we are both at ease. I would suggest that you keep her here, however. She has already shown the ability to cause trouble. I have to go back before anyone finds that I've gone."

The conversation grew silent, and I knew it was over.

Hope, where had it gone? The feeling of betrayal, like a parasitic virus, stuck to my heart, and sucked every ounce of life, every ounce of light out of its now cold stasis. Sucking… sucking… Until nothing but the familiar feel of pain –not of the physical- filled every vein, infecting each organ until black and degenerate, with a poisonous arctic freeze. The chill of winter managed to penetrate the glass windows somehow, and it seeped into my skin, as I grew a devastated shade of translucent white; fingertips numb, bones rigid, muscles fixed. My heart… lay shattered on the ground, with too small and damaged of pieces to form back into a functioning instrument of life. I watched the floor with blank eyes; listened with deaf ears. Breaths hesitated to escape, snagged by the betrayal virus on a string, and pulled back down relentlessly into the dark, frozen abyss made of my inners; a vacant wasteland.

Mother… she was helping Bane take over Gotham; instill fear into its people by murdering, killing, and slaughtering those who opposed injustice. Everything I knew was a lie to cover up the evil so close to home. I used to envy my mother for her hardy exterior, her independence, her defiance… All of it was an illusion. This woman, I did not know her.

_But… why?_

The betrayal virus attacked my throat, and I choked on its fury; lifting a hand to cover my mouth to block the sound of internal suffocation. Eyes shut tight, breathing curbed, tears silent, I attempted to subdue the pain, but it leaked with increasing strength.

The doorknob jiggled, and without thinking, I leaped back onto the couch pretending to be asleep. There was so much anger behind the pain, so much rage that the feeling was barely suppressible. Like an animal, I wanted to scream, foam at the mouth, and _hurt_… The fact that cowardice still enthralled me, owned me, controlled me, as I automatically fled to a safe position fueled the indignation that burned unruly within every fiber of my being. How dearly I wanted to prove to these _murderers_ that I was not a child to fear; vulnerable and weak. No, deep inside was a capability for good that would triumph this evil that has been cast out into the world.

Footsteps moved across the living room, and another door was opened, and quickly shut – leaving the suite in quietness. The fire was the sole remainder of sound, its heat a reflection of my own existence. After the coast was clear, I stood up again and walked with a new form, a stronger form, over to the window and peered out onto Gotham City with inexorable eyes. Tears ceased, and soaked back into skin to be recycled for a new day; a different day with a fresh purpose. The next time that tears would fall, that would be a good day.

…

I was surprised that Bane had not left with Talia, as he stepped out of the bedroom and stopped with dangerously dark eyes to look at me from afar, saying nothing. The numbness that stifled my nerves allowed the ability to turn around without faltering to fear, and stare back at the giant with a deathly glare. The rebel leader's eyes were not as fiery as normal; habitually full of passionate loathing, but rather a shadow of its utmost power. The way in which his back arched slightly forward, and his shoulders relaxed suggested that Bane was tired and unwilling to deal with the child before him in the slightest. Despite the muscles and massive frame, the giant seemed aged; worn from the skin to bone.

"What are _you_ looking at," I seethed, venom cooling down the sides of my lips. Tear marks still stained my face with glistening trails against the glowing firelight, but in an attempt to mask their existence of weakness, I expressed hostility and anger from mine eyes and stern features - a distraction.

Bane stood indifferent to my aggressive composure, not at all moved by distress, and looked on with a controlled aggravation. There was something else that glinted in his eyes – could it have been forlorn? No, impossible.

I was capable of being wrought with fear, with sadness, with happiness, because such are the requirements for being human. What did Bane have? As a beast disguised in anthropoid form, he portrayed no more emotion, no more diversity of empathy, morality, ethicality than a wild animal enraged – blinded by the darkness in his own heart. Just as the bullet wound would form an everlasting scar, the betrayal virus would mangle and distort the innermost layers of my heart and soul, but Bane and I were not the same. We shared scars; memories of painful times, but we were _not_ the same.

Bane said nothing, and moved towards the door of the suite. As his hand reached up to clasp the doorknob, the giant stopped for a moment in contemplation, and turned his head slightly to acknowledge me for the first time.

"What will you do, little one, now that you have no one? Now that there is nothing left in this world to keep you safe from the horrors outside these walls?" The tone of voice that escaped Bane's mask was ridden with a dark jeer; a thick, black hollow crackle of sounds that resonated no life.

The anger rose again, only now there was a potential target to inflict frustration upon. I tightened my fingers into constricted fists, concentrating on controlling the rage that Bane's words ignited so quickly – like a spark to brittle straw. The next words that slithered out of my trembling lips with such smooth calm surprised even me. "Not _all_ the horrors are found outside." An intentional accusation was brought on by my constant eyes on the giant's frame across the room, as the aftershock of the words echoed in silence, and the severity of my allegation slowly soaked into mind. No - I was wrought with too much anger to care for any danger at the moment. Bane would simply have to deal with the denunciation, and I the consequences.

Instead, the rebel leader remained silent –eerily so- and stared at me with a persistent pair of blue eyes that portrayed a curiosity muddied by frustration and rage. For a long moment, Bane calculated his next move with a fluctuating tension of muscles to indicate indecision, and then he simply walked out the door. A quiet click of a lock being shut followed the door falling into place, and I was left alone to wallow in my own anger.

What followed was a sort of subconscious, uncontrolled action, as I screamed long and hard to relieve the stress building within, caring not for listeners beyond the door. The noise was high-pitched and animalistic, carrying more emotion than what could have been said through words. By the end, my throat was burning hot, and my voice hoarse.

I ran to the kitchen, and flung each cupboard open as they smashed against the backside frame, half in search of food, and half needing to relieve my anger by violent action. I panted hard and shortly, overwhelmed by emotions that could not escape in a calmer, more collective manner. There I stopped, as one of the cupboards revealed a collection of alcohol bottles nestled deep within the cool dark, gleaming against the exposed light like jewels in a treasure chest. For a moment I pondered the potential consequences of heeding my indulgences, but as the thought of Bane came back into mind, I growled aloud and snatched a bottle of vodka from above. The taste of the stringent liquid burned the back of my throat like acid, and its taste was equally repulsive. Before long, every available sense –taste, touch, sight, and hearing- were numb, and the world changed into an even more unrecognizable place, and I felt suddenly lonelier than ever.

.

.

.

Light was an intrusive force the next morning, as the sun brightly shone into the suite and pierced the delicate skin of my eyelids to warn of the new day. I did not remember climbing onto the couch the night before, but then again, most of that evening had been erased by the foolish amount of alcohol consumed at the time. More than the throbbing headache, I felt an overpowering feeling of nausea that nearly buckled my knees as I crawled out from under the tangle of blankets, into the cold dawn. The large window was lidless, and the hollow city of Gotham welcomed my blinded sight as I peered out of the glass, almost wanting to slither back into the unconscious comfort of sleep.

A door opened.

"Ah, you're finally awake," a young female voice chimed from behind.

In the reflection of the glass, I watched a female figure enter the suite and walk close to where I stood by the window. The sudden intrusion came as a great surprise, and for a long moment I stood indifferent to the stranger, unable to turn around in the face of overwhelming anticipation. Instead, silence invaded the air, and grew the scene uneasy.

The floorboards creaked under the shifting weight of the girl as she waited awkwardly for a response, but after a few seconds, she cleared her throat and tried to redeem a lighter atmosphere with an approachable inquiry. "Hey, you alright?"

The question seemed senseless to ask given the situation I was forced into, but the genuineness of the words prevented any consequential anger to arise within me. Finally, I turned around to find a young girl, no more than a few years older than I, standing patiently in the living room with a small coy smile.

For the longest time, I had not seen a girl around my age since my days at the estate, where I was seldom blessed with a maid or two who was fairly young, and with whom I connected on a similar emotional level. Suddenly, all defenses were down, and with the help of the girl's inviting behaviour, I no longer felt threatened or uneasy. On another note, I was surprised by the fashion the girl expressed so confidently. She had long fiery red hair in a high ponytail, obviously dyed, and a number of piercings that bejeweled her face, but behind the dark makeup, and bodily decorations, the girl was quite pretty. In contrast to the tattoos and overall gothic physique of the girl, there was an energetic spark that emanated from her pale grey eyes that I felt I could trust.

We looked like complete opposites.

"Hey, you must be Sam, right?" She tried again with another inviting question, taking a few steps forward as I progressed into a more responsive state.

I nodded. "Yeah."

The girl smiled bigger, and spoke with an underlying laugh. "My name's Mika. You have no idea how glad I am to finally come across someone my age. Do you know how annoying it is to put up with stinking men all day long?"

As I observed Mika's attire, I noticed she wore tight black leggings with tall, knee skimming military boots and a black tucked in shirt, secured with a chunky belt. With short sleeves, the tattoos that painted Mika's pale arms with colorful images were quite clear, and I grew fascinated by the artistic display of pictures. The minimalism of the outfit suggested that the girl was an advocate for easy movement, unlike Bane who preferred heavy clothing pieces for surer protection.

As the sick feeling in my stomach subsided, I grew more aware of external surroundings over internal sufferance. The suite was a complete disaster. Bottles of alcohol were scattered open and empty all over the room, while pillows and miscellaneous items seemed to have been thrown about in a fit of rage; with most of what was victimized broken. Did I really make this mess? Not only this, but the sudden realization that Bane must have come back to the suite some time during the night after I had passed out to find the place a disaster, and I drooling on the couch unconscious. Suddenly, I felt embarrassed.

Mika caught on to the growing despair changing my face. "Don't worry about the mess, as impressive as it is, I'll clean it up. Why don't you go have a shower, and I'll make some breakfast?"

I stuttered, "Sure." Stunned by Mika's kindness, a gesture I had thought to be lost in today's world, I wobbled hesitantly over to the bedroom on the left of the fireplace, secretly unknowing where to go.

"There should be a bathroom with a shower in that room there, so go ahead. I'll be out here if you need me for anything," Mika said encouragingly, nodding towards the bedroom I was headed towards; as she bent down to begin picking at the mess on the floor.

As I entered the bedroom, I noticed the bathroom to the right, and after checking the interior for a towel and shampoo, both of which were equipped, I closed the door and turned the hot water nozzle on to begin the shower. When I finally drenched myself in a steaming fall of water, the feeling of being cleansed of all the filth coating my skin in a thick film was almost ecstasy. For a long half an hour, I simply stood under the water and let all the stress of current events be washed away, if only temporarily, into the drain, and suddenly a state of peace was lastly met with pure enjoyment.

When I exited into the bedroom after the shower, I searched the room for some new clothes, and found that a married couple must have once lived here, as there was clothing for both sexes in the closet and drawers neatly folded and divided into two sections depending on the gender role of the outfit piece. What I also managed to determine, was that the age of the couple who owned this apartment previously to Bane must have been fairly young, as there was a great variety in styles of clothing, ranging from casual wear with a youthful flare to formal pieces suited for special events, but too young and sexy for an older woman to pull off. Obviously the pair were rich, or they would not have been able to afford the suite and all of the clothing, jewelry, and electronics that accompanied the living quarters. In the end, I decided on a pair of comfortable black leggings, and an oversized red pullover hoodie, with a pair of knee-high woolly grey socks to add warmth to the thinner material of the legwear. After blow-drying my hair, I threw up the disheveled mane into a messy ponytail instead of fighting the inevitable thick texture. After the outfit was put together, I felt not only comfortable, but more confident in my physical appearance now that I was clean and recomposed. Lastly, I found a collection of perfumes in one of the drawers of a vanity near the bed, and sprayed Brittany Spear's Fantasy on my wrists, chest, and the back of my neck for a lasting pleasant body odour effect.

After quite some time, I emerged from the bedroom back into the living area of the suite to find the place completely spotless, and Mika in the kitchen frying some eggs and bacon for breakfast. The fragrance of cooked food saturated the air, and I moved towards the source of delicious aroma as if in a trance.

To make up for the awkwardness of the previous conversation attempt, I initiated Mika with a more pleasant tone. After all, she seemed like a genuinely nice person, despite the questionability of her presence in Bane's domain, and I did not want to scare off a potential friend with an overbearing resilience to unfamiliarity.

"Smells good," I said, as I climbed into the kitchen and grabbed a seat at the bar table.

Mika turned around, and winked. "Thanks, love. You look nice. Did you have a good shower?" Without looking at the stove, she flipped the eggs with confident ease, as the food sizzled and crackled hot on the pan.

I smiled, and nodded. "Sorry about earlier. It was undeserving to be so hostile."

Mika shrugged while buttering some toast. "Don't worry about it, girl. I would be afraid too, given your circumstance. Bane hasn't been the most accommodating to you, after all. How's your stomach, by the way? Heard you got shot. Bummer. You're becoming somewhat of a legend around the Den. You managed to shoot Bane in the process of escaping his underground lair, then you get shot and survive a street raid. Not many can attest to the same success."

The memories of the escape crept back into consciousness, and the bullet wound began to pulsate as the remembrance of the pain once felt so strongly came back. "I'm fine now," I said more quietly, holding the bandaged region of my stomach with a gentle hand to comfort the sudden uneasiness of the healing wound.

A familiar terrifying voice invaded my thoughts.

_"What will you do now, little one, now that you have no one? Now that there is nothing left in this world to keep you safe from the horrors outside these walls?"_

"What will happen to me?" I shuddered, my eyes wet with tears threatening the borders of formation. "What will happen to everyone in the city?"

Mika noticed that I had recessed into a panicked state, and put down the knife as she approached the table. "Hey," she pressed, touching my arm with gentle fingers, "Don't worry about him, alright? As long as we stay out of trouble, there's no reason to fret. Let's have something to eat, and then you can accompany me to the Skylight, okay?"

Without addressing Mika's avoidance of the question, I looked up to face her with a solemn expression, and she stuck out her tongue playfully. We both let out a subtle laugh.

.

.

.

"What's Skylight?" I muffled with a mouthful of delicious food, the name still curiously unknown even after a few moments of discounting. As consequence to a few days of disregarded hunger, my stomach lost its painfully empty sensation and embraced a numb state of starvation, until the taste of sustenance finally passed my lips once again, wherein the cramps of malnutrition resurfaced tenfold. Without much thought to proper etiquette, I scarfed down as much food as possible into the never-ending pit that was my stomach with sloppy speed.

"You'll see," Mika answered with a weak smile, watching me eat with a sort of sympathy.

When the meal was over, Mika threw the dirty dishes into a sink full of soapy water to let them soak, and she moved towards the door of the suite.

"Hurry up and grab some shoes. We gotta head out in a few minutes," she encouraged, looking at the time on her watch.

I ran quickly into my bedroom and shuffled through the closet to find some shoes, and ended up picking out a pair of brown leather boots that matched quite well with the red top I wore. Although the shoes were a size too big, the difference was not uncomfortable enough that I could not wear them at all. With all said and done, I met Mika at the door. She pulled out a gathering of keys, and opened the lock with one of them, and let me pass through the doorframe first.

"So, here's the plan. We have till… six o'clock on the Skylight, then we have to make our way back to your suite before the big man gets back. I want to get in as much as possible before tomorrow," Mika explained with a newfound urgency, and walked out in front after having locked the door behind us, where I trailed her fast moving frame.

"What will we be doing?" I asked, suddenly suspicious. There was much more than coincidence at fault for Mika's aversion to answer my questions, and I knew she was hiding information from me for some purpose or another. The secrecy of her nature was unnerving, and I began to fall back into a mindset of distrust.

"Training," she said after a moment of contemplative silence.

At the sight of a couple armed men guarding the doors to an elevator, I seized all movement, and stared with wide-eyes at the guns. Echoes of gunfire invaded my ears, along with the screams of men being shot and slaughtered by the reckless hate I witnessed at the street raid.

Mika stopped and turned around. "Hey, you alright?" There was a slight impatience in her voice.

I shook my mind free of the horrible memories, and caught up with her at the elevator. "Yeah, I'm fine." Without looking at the men guarding the doors, I passed into the elevator with Mika, and she pressed the 80th floor button. Bane's suite was on the 50th floor, a descent number to remember, and in the ascension of the final thirty levels, I decided to ask Mika some more questions regarding the nature of our visit to the 'Skylight'.

"So, how did you end up here?" I asked.

Mika looked over to me carefully, and then sighed. "Well, at the beginning… when Bane first took over Gotham, there were a bunch of us who decided to fight his forces and try to take back the city. However, little did we know how many people would actually side with Bane, and we were quickly outnumbered. I grew up in a family who loved fighting sports, such as boxing and martial arts, so when it came time to defend ourselves against Bane's assault on our forces, I was more than capable of protecting myself, if not my loved ones…"

Mika paused for a moment, and frowned. "In the end, Bane saw the potential of my skills, and gave me the choice to either die, or live and help train his men to fight. As you can see, choice B was more than convenient." The usual bubbly attitude of the redhead diminished under a cloud of growing annoyance, but I could not help myself by asking more questions.

"So, have you switched sides? Are you with Bane now?" I probed, cautiously regarding Mika's mounting hostility. If what was said was true, in that she had formed a rebel group and tried to fight against Bane, then maybe she could help me form a similar revolt once again, and find a way to contact Batman. But, for some reason, I kept the idea to myself for the moment.

"I am on whoever's side keeps me alive," she responded flatly.

Taken aback by the ignorance of Mika's decision caused a formation of irritated confusion to swell inside me. "That… That can't be your decision. You should side with whoever you think is right, not with whichever side is most convenient," I protested, shaking my head.

Mika laughed at this, but the tone was more lighthearted than her mood would have suggested. "I understand now why he keeps you alive," she chuckled, looking up at the constant changing floor number on display.

"What do you mean?" I stuttered, confused by Mika's misplaced sense of amusement.

"Your passion for good," she answered with a familiar genuine smile. "Many of us have lost hope, but you seem to retain every available ounce like an innocent child untouched by tragedy. Bane must find that fascinating. I wonder if he believes he can destroy that light, or if he'd rather feed from its rarity. In any case," she continued, turning to me. "there is something in you that Bane wants, or he would not keep you around."

"Well, I am Talia's daughter," I inputted. A flush of hot blood tinted my cheeks an embarrassing shade of red. The thought of having a special trait deserving envy from others never occurred to me, and the realization of such uniqueness was both humbling and terrifying.

"Yes, that is a curious thing," Mika said in deep thought. "When I was first told that, I thought that Bane must be keeping you around because you remind him of Talia, but he hasn't touched you, has he?" The question came out so casually, in contrast to the implementation being so personal, that I almost choked on the insincerity.

"No, of course not," I nearly yelled in uncontrollable embarrassment. The reddening of my cheeks grew deeper. The thought of that monster… touching me was too horrific to imagine.

"You see, that's what confuses me," Mika continued. "If he was using you as a replacement for Talia, whose been denying Bane's desires for years, then he would simply take advantage of you without hesitation. But, obviously that hasn't happened yet."

"_Yet?_" I said in slow horror. "What do you mean 'yet'?"

"Don't get me wrong, I think you're a great girl, and I wouldn't dare take advantage of your kindness or unfortunate situation, but Bane is a different case all together. If he really wanted to take you for himself, he would without regarding your feelings whatsoever. As much as that plain sucks, it's the cold truth. But something is stopping him from doing so, and if I were you, I would find out what that is and roll with it till the end of time," Mika warned with alarming truth. How could I fight against her knowledge of Bane, when Mika has been around the rebel leader longer than I? However the horrific nature of her words, the girl's better experience could not be denied. Nevertheless, there was some truth in what Mika suggested. In discovering the source of Bane's decision to keep his distance, I could use that reason to my advantage and prevent the potential dreadfulness of Mika's words from becoming a reality.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to a scene of the rooftop. Mika stepped out first, and I followed hesitantly behind. The open area of the 80th floor, otherwise the roof, was quite spatial and undisturbed by blockades. With the ground clear of snow, I came to the conclusion that someone must regularly shovel the Skylight, so as to avoid unnecessary injuries from slipping, or just plain annoyance if training. Being on the top floor meant that the wind was stronger and colder as it seeped into the unsuitable clothes I chose to wear.

"The Skylight is the roof?" I screeched, fighting the cold with a self-hugging composure.

"The street isn't safe enough for us to train in peace," Mika yelled over the howling wind. "Here, we can be left alone without the potential threat of attacks from outsiders."

"We'll freeze to death!" I complained, now jumping up and down to keep warm.

Mika smiled, amused by my childish defiance. "Don't worry, Sam. The cold will be the least of your worries if you don't learn to defend yourself."

"Ok," I mumbled, walking over to Mika with a calmer attitude. Although my teeth continued to chatter, I refrained from acting oversensitively to the cold, and decided to take on the wind with more passivity than before.

Without warning, Mika swung her leg around and kicked my feet off the ground. I landed hard on the cement, sprawled out on my back like a starfish. I quickly sat up, a throbbing pain shooting up my tailbone. "What the hell was that?" I yelled angrily, glaring at Mika from below with narrowed eyes. "That was uncalled for."

"The first part of your training consists of blocking, and defending against offensive attacks," Mika explained with all joking aside. She outstretched her hand to me, and I took it begrudgingly. As I got back onto my feet, Mika pummelled a fist into my ribcage without letting go of the one hand, careful to avoid the bullet wound, and I nearly buckled over a second time, breathless.

"That… one hurt," I gasped with one eye closed, grasping the assaulted region with the free hand.

"You must learn to predict your opponent's moves," Mika continued, letting go. "If predictable, the enemy can be defeated more easily than if you relied on erratic measures alone. Strategic retaliatory moves win battles, not reckless, unreflective decisions. Understand?"

"Yeah," I agreed, regaining some composure. "Strategy, not foolhardy."

Mika smiled. "Good."

"Did Bane teach you some moves?" I asked, hoping to distract Mika for a few moments while I caught my breath.

"No," she replied nonchalantly. "He belonged to the League of Shadows, so if Bane trained anyone with the same skills as he, then at some point that person could have the potential to defeat him. That would be an embarrassing downfall, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I agreed, although the idea was an interesting one to consider. "But he is stronger and bigger than most people."

Mika stepped closer, and I felt like running. "It's the mask," she whispered, darting her eyes around the rooftop as if scanning for unwelcomed listeners. "It feeds something into Bane's airway. I think someone once called it Venom, but to what kind of drug that refers to, I'm not sure. Barsad told me once that the Venom is capable of suppressing the uncontrollable pain of Bane's spine injury, while also boosting his body's ability to form muscle. Unbelievably, it helps subdue the feeling of fear, too. To top it off, he also told me that the drug is capable of healing the brute's injuries much faster than a normal human being. Explains why he's still living, if you ask me."

"The scar on his back, that's the reason for the mask?" I gasped, as some closure to the mystery of Bane's ginormous mutilation was finally revealed.

Mika nodded slowly. "The Venom drug makes Bane basically undefeatable."

I contemplated this notion, and rejected it almost immediately. "Evil can always be defeated," I said with confidence.

"Well, at least one of us believes that," Mika replied with a bemused smirk. She backed up, and stood up straighter. "Now, back to training. All this gossiping reminds me of high school days. Makes me all teary eyed just thinking about it."

Sarcasm duly noted.

"Now, are you ready to defend that notion with your life?" She challenged, a spark of wild energy igniting the fire behind Mika's eyes.

I nodded.

"Then show me."

.

.

.

By the end of the four hour training session, I was completely numb from the inside out. Every inch of flesh had been beaten and pummelled with kicks and punches that grew the skin swollen and colorful with bruises. Never have I participated in so much physical activity at one time, and as a result, I was inevitably exhausted. Mika ended the reign of pain with half an hour to spare for us to return to the suite without rushing, and I was thankful for her consideration. With all the inflicted injuries cast upon my inexperienced body time and time again, Mika still cared for my safety in the end. After all, the purpose of the exercises was to prepare me for the hostility and cruelty of the outside world. At first, I did not quite understand the purpose of Mika's harsh, relentless methods, but as I grew better at defending myself against attacks after much failure, I knew that the pain was not all for nothing.

"How are you feeling?" Mika asked with a sly smile as we descended in the elevator. She was scarcely affected by the prolonged physical assertion, barely breathless and untouched by injuries, which clearly stated her experience with fighting to be highly skilled. However, the opponent she faced was not necessarily adequate either.

I exaggerated a pained moan. "I think I'm broken." The joke was lighthearted, but the pain was most definitely real.

We both laughed.

"Why haven't you tried to escape?" I asked suddenly, the question having burned in the back of my mind since Mika told me she was practically forced to accompany Bane. At the moment I was unable to leave, but there was no way that Bane could keep me here for long. I escaped once, and I would do it again. Putting my own singular life on the line meant nothing in comparison to the thousands that lingered scared and helpless within the remains of Gotham City.

"What's with all these questions," Mika sighed heavily, pressing two fingers on her nose bridge. "Look, Sam, we all aren't as fortunate to have a generational background as impressive as yours to defend our attempts at escaping. For the rest of us poor souls, to escape means death. If you were simply another girl, Bane would have no trouble killing you. But you are Talia's _daughter_, do you understand?" The frustration behind her words was surprising, and I regretted making Mika feel so uneasy yet again.

"I'm sorry," I apologized sincerely, abandoning the attempt to follow through with more probing questions. By the reactions of others, I knew that sometimes I got carried away with asking too many, or too personal, of questions without considering the responder's feelings with a return of hostility or annoyance for simple curiosity. The inability to control my temptations was a childish endeavor that I still had not lost, and I knew that one day the anomaly would get me into serious trouble if not mended.

"It's alright," Mika said calmly. "I know you just want to learn about this new awful world. It's a bit unfamiliar to most of us, but not to all."

"Like Bane?" I added.

"Yes. Like Bane." Mika finished, looking over to me. "Do you know his story?"

I shook my head, but the curiosity to know the truth gave me new life, and I closed in on Mika to listen more intently.

"I overheard Talia talking to Bane once. From this, I learned that they were once imprisoned in a place called the 'Pit'. So, I looked up the name and found out that the prison was located in Santa Prisca; a deep hole in the ground that made it nearly impossible for anyone to escape. The Pit was for murderers, criminals, and rapists. The only way to escape the prison was to climb the wall, which was so steep that anyone who fell died, or became paralyzed. However, one person did escape."

"Was it Bane?" I questioned, enthralled in Mika's story like a child.

She shook her head slowly, an impish smile on her lips. "No. It was Talia. Your mother."

Amazement was an understatement. The thought of Talia being able to climb out of such a hellhole seemed unreal, whereas Bane appeared to be the more fitting subject to gain success from such a feat. To think, I had the potential for such strength, such determinism within my veins. Only, I would use these qualities for good, and not the evil that Talia has decided to embrace.

"How did Bane come to know Talia?" I pressed on.

"Talia escaped years ago, when she was only a child. Bane was her protector. In a way, he still is. No one knows how or why Talia ended up in the pit, but ever since she helped Bane escape, he's been following her around – in the shadows."

"How long was Bane in the Pit for? Do you know why he was sentenced there?" I asked, feeling a strange sense of pity fall over the thought of Bane.

Mika shook her head. "Turns out he was sentenced to the Pit when he was a boy, and most of his life was spent there, until Talia came back to rescue him from certain death. When he emerged next into the public eye, Bane carried the mask."

"So, Bane has felt pain all his life," I said quietly. A sense of understanding uplifted some of the mystery surrounding the giant killer machine, and I felt grateful, in some undefinable way, to having gained new insight into his dark past.

"Hey, don't go feeling sorry for the guy. He won't take kindly to pity, let me tell you that," Mika warned, surprised that I was effected so deeply by the new information. Not only was she afraid of being discovered for having released sensitive lore that was technically supposed to be undisclosed, but Mika knew that I had an uncontrollable urge to speak my mind at the worst of times. "You didn't hear any of this from me." The intention of the words spoken was clear – do not talk about dark, depressing pasts with murderous psychopaths.

"How-how did you manage to come across all of this," I questioned, amazed by Mika's knowledge.

She smiled wider. "I have connections." There was no sense probing deeper into such a vague answer, I knew that Mika would not elaborate.

_Maybe Bane was scared… Maybe he was so damaged inside, that… The abandoned and lonely boy of Bane's past was the figure lingering in the shadows – unforgettable and frightened. _

As we descended the elevator, and finally arrived back on the 50th floor, a new sort of dread loomed over us with the thought of Bane arriving soon, and silence filled the air. After a greater amount of time spent around the rebel leader, Mika still grew nervous, and the evidence of change was clear as her mouth grew straight, and hands restless.

The door to the suite seemed closer than I remembered. Maybe we were moving towards the wrong room. No – the number 566 shone a glossy gold against the warm ceiling lights, emphasising its frightful existence. Not until now did I realize that no one else seemed to occupy the same floor besides Bane. No noise escaped from any of the rooms that aligned either side of the hallway, and suddenly the isolation of room 566 seemed overwhelming… No, terrifying. I would be left all alone with a monster in the dark. All consuming… All spiteful, and hating, and evil… Would I emerge again for a second day occupied solely by loneliness and sadness? The allure of another day filled with nothing short of hopelessness and fear was inexistent. Mika believed me to be optimistic of a brighter future, but to tell her that I was more scared than anyone that nothing would change, that all the hoping and wishing I made was the useless dreaming of a child became too painful to share. I had to be strong. If not for myself, then for others whose lights have faded, and look to me to catch fire once more.

Mika grew hesitant to knock on the door, and turned to me before giving anyone inside an awareness of our approach. "Look, you'll be fine. Just don't give him backtalk, and Bane will stand down. Got it?" she whispered sternly, and I felt the breath of a sisterly bond between us.

"Can't you stay?" I pleaded, unleashing a desperate grab for Mika's arm.

A realization occurred. If Bane and I were left alone in the suite, our solitary encounter would be the first of its kind. Any other unfortunate time that I was around the rebel leader, others lingered in the background; silent and unwilling to defy treachery. Now, there was no chance to escape the violent tyranny Bane commanded so easily, and with such pleasure. I would have to face the giant with all buildable courage, look him in the eyes and stand up for what I believed was right.

A familiar feeling crept back into existence - fear.

Mika looked at me with knitted brows, and a concerned expression. "Sam, you have to go in on your own. Even if I wanted to stay, he wouldn't let me. You're going to have to be strong. I know you can do it." She stripped my hand from her flesh, and stepped back. With a swift knock on the door, my fate was set. "Go," she whispered forcibly, nodding towards the door. A few seconds passed where I stood frozen, but with an encouraging push on the back, Mika sent me stumbling into the room.

"Special delivery," Mika hollered into the room, but did not enter.

"Wait!" I muttered, looking dreadfully over my shoulder, but the door met my eyes instead as it was quickly shut from behind.

Nervousness grew my breaths uneasy, as I refused to turn around to face the room, and what monstrosities lingered inside.

A mechanical voice, deep and rumbling, broke the silence with obtrusive force. The words did not come across as a suggestion, but rather a command and I was foolish to disobey if life meant anything to me at all.

"Come here."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Buahaha. It has been an exceptionally long times, my friends. We are… still friends, right? Right?!Sorry for the long delay. I've been wanting to write more, but school has been a continual creativity sucking monster, that I have not had the energy or time to make anything worthy in a while.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It is the longest chapter yet, so… Yay! :D

AND... I have started the next chapter already. Actually, this chapter was supposed to be longer, but cliff hangers are too much fun to let pass. Muahaha! Let me know what you think of Mika, another OC. There is going to be a plethora of action in the next chapter. And, of course, more Bane!

PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS, QUESTIONS, AND SUGGESTIONS!

( ^▽^)/ -Me love you all!

To answer a couple questions some of the reviewers had…

1) The romance of this story is between Bane and Sam… eventually.

2) Sam is most definitely _not_ Bane's daughter. Cause, you know, that would mean all sorts of icky things having to do with the above answer. However, that would have been an interesting alternative storyline (Sam being Bane's daughter, not the incest part)!

This would be an awkward ending if I left the word 'incest' in your mind to linger until next chapter, so…＼(＾▽＾*) Let's dance! (*＾▽＾)／


	6. Seeker

_When she was just a girl  
She expected the world  
But it flew away from her reach  
And the bullets catch in her teeth  
Life goes on, it gets so heavy  
The wheel breaks the butterfly  
Every tear a waterfall  
In the night the stormy night she'll close her eyes  
In the night the stormy night away she'd fly _

-Coldplay (Paradise)

**City of Ashes**

**Chapter Six: Seeker**

A mechanical voice, deep and rumbling, broke the silence with obtrusive force. The words did not come across as a suggestion, but rather a command and I was foolish to disobey if life meant anything to me at all.

"Come here."

I closed my eyes for a quick second, and then anxiously turned around.

A pair of inhuman blue eyes pierced me from across the room; dangerously unstable. Bane stood by the bar table, with a plethora of gadgets and electronic devices sprawled across its surface. The giant fidgeted with what looked like a bracelet, but the object was outlined by a number of buttons and strange additions that lessened the indication of its nature. Even on the other side of the suite, nearly twenty steps away, Bane looked to be a colossal giant in comparison to my smaller frame.

The air was wrought with a mutual hostility between the two of us.

"Yes?" I stuttered. Just then I realized that my body had shrunken in the wake of fear, and quickly I stood taller to correct any suggestion of inferiority.

Bane looked me over for a moment, and I knew that he inevitably caught onto the discreet physical adjustment. There looked to be somewhat of a smile, or at least a flash of condescending amusement, morph his eyes into crescent shapes.

The giant's voice came out more light, and I deduced I must have charmed him in some way. "I have a task for you."

For a very good reason, I wanted to object to helping him in any way with a long, impressive speech on my incorruptible nature and will for righteous doings only, but silence filled my lungs instead. There was always a struggle to find powerful rhetoric to throw at Bane, as he was a master manipulator of words, and could quite easily take the upper hand with help from an intimidating composer, and prolonged experience in speech pathology. I imagined an answer to everything the rebel leader said that was packed with his trademark sarcasm, arrogance, and disdain, but as the words tried to form on my lips, they hesitated and fluttered away like frightened birds.

With no objection, Bane continued to speak, although his focus turned mainly to the laptop screen that flashed peculiar coding that degenerated my brain the longer its complexity was regarded.

"How has your training been going, little one?" The question seemed out of place due to its generic resonance of similarly asked queries I faced at the estate on everyday occasions. Of course, I was being probed, in this particular circumstance, by a madman which kept me on alert despite the outwardly innocent nature of the question.

'Little one'… How I despised that patronizing pet name. At the sound of those fusel words, a flame of anger began to close in to detonate the bomb that was my patience. Clearly, Bane had knowledge of the appellation's undoing, yet I knowing this could not stop the fact that it bothered me still. All that could be done about the consequential anger was to hide it from view, and hope that Bane did not use the entry of weakness to solidify a wordy kill.

I am _not _your 'little one', you giant brute.

"Fine. I've only had one session with Mika so far," I explained with a detectable grumble, my patience still crippled by the unpleasant epithet. Without really realizing it, I had narrowed my eyes at Bane.

When the giant looked over to me again, he noticed the displeasured expression, and intensified his own stare. "Careful," Bane warned, flashing fire behind intrigued eyes. He flung the bracelet object to me with frightening speed, considering with what little effort it was thrown, but what was more surprising still was that I caught the contraption without fumbling. I winced at the pain the item forced as it collided with my hand, and brought it down to eye level to scan in detail.

Bane spoke quietly without taking his eyes away, impressed by my coordination skills. "Good."

I pretended to ignore the indirect accolade.

There were a number of buttons on the donut-shaped contraption, and a small screen that refused to flash with life as I prodded it with a curious finger. Overall, I had no idea why Bane gave me the object.

"Put it on your wrist," he instructed with a more placid tone. Bane did not linger for defiance, because he knew that there would be none to have. Or, at least, there should not have been.

"What is it for?" I asked nervously, holding the object firmly away from the designated area of entrapment. For whatever reason that Bane refused to disclose the purpose of the electronic wristband gave way to suspicion. How could Bane expect me to trust a man like him so easily? For all I knew, the device could electrify me, sever my wrist, or inject some sort of poison into my veins for a slow kill.

"Put it on," he repeated with greater force. The voice behind the mask began to transform into a threatening rumble of sounds, and the room seemed to tremble.

"No." I shook my head, dropping the hand with the object to my side as a show of refusal to listen. As to what reason I decided to disobey, none could tell, but I knew nothing good could come from such foolish behaviour. Perhaps, in some way, I was challenging Bane's authenticity of rule and supreme power by disobedience, and suffer the eventual consequence if true. Mika believed that I was fortunate to be Talia's daughter, because Bane treated me with greater ease than any other unfortunate soul to cross the tyrant's path, but the observation was seen as a challenge to me – one that needed proving.

Bane first looked down at the bracelet, and then brought his eyes up to me – anger twitching at the corners. He was definitely not used to the word 'no'. With such spiteful, livid eyes, Bane's mask fell into the backdrop of fear inducing traits. I felt the same amount of unease towards the mask as I would initially sense around a wheelchair victim, or amputee. Eventually, time weakened the discomfort of the mask's existence, and now I no longer felt fear towards its imposing nature, but rather that the metal guise was a simple addition to his face – nothing more. Of course, the denunciation of the mask would remain a mental thought, as Bane most likely used the contraption as a scaring tactic, and would not take kindly to passive attitudes towards the instrument of fear.

"Know that any pain that will befall you in the very near future is your own doing," the giant cautioned, taking a few steps forward. "I own you now, and I expect you to obey me, child."

Own me? There is no possible way on this earth that I would ever let a man own me in any derogatory sense of the word. The thought of completely losing independence and freedom for the satisfaction of a person's greed and selfishness was appalling to imagine, let alone experience. No – Bane would not have me so easily. Talia does not dictate the fate of a child she abandoned to the aftermath of a broken city - a broken humanity. Through the hellish flames of my distant future, I would carve my _own_ path.

"Fuck you!" I screamed in uncontrollable anger. The words could not help but escape. A feeling of utter fury consumed all possible remnants of control within me as the profanity dared exit across the room, and ultimately slap Bane in the face with reckless force. The loss in temperance frightened even me after the curse was unleashed, and I recoiled from the brutality of the word thereafter in recompense.

Bane attacked suddenly, without warning. The speed and agility that the rebel leader executed was inhuman, and even though I was extremely agile, his swiftness was greater still. There was no chance of escape. All that was heard bolting across the living room floor was the sound of thunder that shook the very foundation of the suite with unbelievable power. Despair snatched at my throat, while fear seeped its fangs into my erratic beating heart. This moment was the end.

A vengeful hand curled its massive fingers around the delicate curve of my neck, forcing the entire weight of my body from that pinpoint into the backwards wall with an overbearing force. The air was kicked from my lungs, and I struggled to gain any doable amount of oxygen back inwards, but as the grip intensified, the world around me began to shake out of focus. Bane held back no mercy. I grabbed onto the giant's hand and tried with a failed attempt to remove the vice, feeling suddenly the true insignificance of my deniability efforts, and grew evermore faint in the process of desperate physical exertion. I abandoned the method of tearing at the hand after no reward for the effort, and instead pushed on the giant's chest to show that I was incapable of breathing. The broad, bulky mass of muscle that enveloped the rebel leader's body was hard to the touch, not to mention the skin's surface was scorching. How I hated touching the monster, but despair can cause someone to do a great many things they never knew possible.

Anger is an element of emotion that is hard to control. Like a burning flame, the feeling of anger is natural, and dangerous if not tempered. When I became upset, the sentiment was derived from so much care, so much passion for something that I could not live without, such as the happiness and peace of good people, that I would do anything to see its existence continue. Bane was different. The rage he portrayed was automatic, mechanical, and detached. As I looked up into a pair of dark, vacant eyes, forever changed by the pain and sufferance of a struggling past, I knew that Bane had known nothing else but eternal rage since he was a small boy. To think, the man who managed to overtake an entire city by violent force; killing innocent people, and scarring the lives of thousands, was once a lonely child cast into a deep, dark hole to fester for years until he metamorphosed from a helpless creature, into a monstrosity of destruction.

Suddenly, I remembered… Bane once saved my life. The act was unforgettable, if nothing more than scorned. For some reason untold, the rebel leader kept death at bay, and I owed him for it – an outstanding debt. As much as I wanted to dismiss the efforts Bane made to heal me, I could not overlook the act; the haunting image of his colossal frame looming over me, and his hot touch grazing my skin.

Bane lowered his mask to my ear, and growled softly. "You believe yourself to be brave, but for all your efforts, you are nothing to me. The only choice that you have in this world is that you can either die quickly, or prolong the inevitability of your fate by obedience."

If I did not learn to control my temper, Bane would eventually kill me. There was no doubt in my mind as to how insignificant I meant to the tyrant ruler. Talia gave her daughter up to Bane in hopes that his thoughts would be occupied by a distraction other than her, so I was little more than a toy; an object of play. Ultimately, and the evidence was quite clear, the rebel leader would lose interest in his acquired item, and dispose of it without the slightest hesitation.

"I – I'm s- sorry," were the only words that I could form through the increasing grip around my throat. The effort to speak was almost crippling, as unconsciousness grew closer by the second, and where only dwindling remnants of energy remained.

Without increasing the distance between our faces, Bane turned his head to look at me and study the fear behind bloodshot eyes. Never have I been this close to him before. Our faces were nearly touching, and I could feel the heat from his body encircle me. The overbearing power of the giant's eyes ensnared my soul, and I could not help but look away.

"Good girl," he breathed with a newfound calm, the spoken softness transformed into a barely audible hush of sounds through the mask. Those words, although forgiving, birthed a chill down my spine. Bane seemed satisfied with the apology, and he soon straightened up into a familiar looming posture. Though the hand around my throat remained, the tyrant slowly released his grip, with intentional leisureliness, until I could form gasps for air. Just before he let go, I felt Bane's thumb graze over the swollen surface of my throat, where the skin turned deep red from the assaulting hand, and his eyes intricately observed the damage. There was no doubt that bruises would form in the next few days – if I was lucky enough to survive that long. Before I could push away the remains of his touch, the rebel leader fully detached, and took a step back. The unexpected soft trace of the giant's thumb left a tingling sensation amongst the throbbing pain, and I was not sure if he knew that the strange delicacy momentarily expressed was noticed, but afterwards I felt a new sort of uneasiness.

_"…he hasn't touched you, has he?"_

A horrific trail of thoughts occurred. I shook the threatening idea from consciousness, and immediately sought a distraction to fill my panicked mind instead.

I grabbed the bracelet from the floor, and Bane watched me intently, his eyes reading every move I made with calculated ease. "Here," I said hurriedly, throwing the contraption around my wrist, and hearing a light clicking noise as the device secured its position indefinitely. The feeling of shame was almost as painful as the pulsating aftermath of Bane's assault on my neck, as I failed to show the bully my strength, and instead was beaten by as much effort as it would take for Bane to bend a single finger. Eye contact was too much to bear. In return, I would only get a look of satisfaction on the rebel leader's daunting face, and such an expression would only generate further frustration within me.

"I won't help you hurt people," I uttered softly, but with strength.

Bane gave me one last agonizing look before he moved to the laptop in the kitchen once more, and began typing on the keyboard.

The bracelet lit up.

"The numbers 468513. Type them in." Bane instructed monotonously, pointing to the bracelet without looking.

I grazed over at the device and found a small keypad with numbers, up/down arrows, and an 'ENTER' and 'CANCEL' button. Hesitantly, I pushed each number on the keypad, and the word 'ACTIVATED' blinked florescent green on the black backdrop screen.

"What is this for?" I asked, prepared to wretch the contraption off of my arm, but the item was locked into position. The metal felt uncomfortable and foreign against the skin. I looked to Bane's face.

_The mask… Has Bane gotten used to its feel?_

"This bracelet is a GPS system, courtesy of a very unfortunate donor. From the laptop, I will be able to input geographical coordinates into the bracelet's memory system, where the device can track the designated location from anywhere in the city," Bane explained, looking over to me with a flaming stare – not one of anger however. "You will become my seeker."

What is this folly?

"Seeker?" I questioned suspiciously. "What does that mean?"

"One thing that I will not tolerate from those in my care is inaction. Even if you are Talia's child, I will not allow you to sit here uselessly. Being a seeker requires speed, agility, and clever thinking," he continued, pointing then to his head. "All of which I know you have. A seeker performs personal deliveries for their carrier. I simply give you a coordination, and you deliver a package to that spot without question. You do not look into the contents of the encase, you do not doubt the mission, you do not fail at a delivery."

Bane had enough trust to let me handle packages with classified content?

"What happens if I fail?" I asked, hesitant to know the answer, but curious all the same.

There it was again, that evidence of a smile; crescent shaped eyes. "You die," Bane replied with an unfitting light tone, happy to give away the ironically unsurprising answer.

_What did Bane sound like without the mask?_

Inside I seethed at the reply, and decided to retaliate. "Can I get the bracelet off somehow?" I asked with fake indifference; an indirect implementation of rebelliousness below the surface.

"What a good question," he nearly laughed, impressed by the bravery, or sheer stupidity, of the inquiry. I nearly jumped when he busted out with the amused chortle. "No. There is a trigger within the device that will detonate the bracelet if it is forcefully removed. You are welcomed to try, if it suits you."

"No, thank you." I mumbled slowly, glaring down at the bracelet with a new loathsome power.

There was nothing else to be said, so Bane closed the laptop and detached it from its charging cord to accompany him into the bedroom on the right of the fireplace. "You will begin the first delivery tomorrow. I will give you further detail on the mission in the morning," he finished saying, leaving me in the middle of the living room to think over the information given in solitude.

Before Bane stepped out of sight, I yelled with unplanned desperation. "Why choose me?"

The giant stopped, and tilted his head horizontally sideways to expose one of his blue eyes through the dark covering the rest of his mechanically altered face. Against the light of the fireplace, the curves of Bane's body were emphasized into deep grooves and curvatures that stressed the sheer superior strength he possessed over any opposing forces. I felt a sudden doom for the city. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow will start early," he spoke resolutely, although with an unexpected softness.

.

.

.

I am selfish. Shamefully self-regarding. Bane gave me the option to die now, or prolong the inevitable by obeying his command. Life can be complex at times, and not until it is too late, does one realize how many lives can be affected by a decision they have made. By choosing to listen to Bane, I would put more of people's lives at risk. The content of the packages a seeker handles might go undisclosed, but I knew better than to believe that the deliveries had nothing to do with the progression of Bane's tightening grip on Gotham City. Death was too frightening to consider, no matter how clear the easiest answer was – completely maddening. If I had enough strength to end it all now, then the rebel leader would have to find an alternative route to control the city without my help. Then again, people like Mika looked to me as a light in the dark - a sign of hope. Barsaad could see that I was full of passion and goodness like his younger sister, and I knew no different. For Talia, virtuousness was seen as weakness, but I believed the opposite to be true; evilness was a weakness of the soul. Through the conversation with my mother, I knew that Bane also thought that I was an innocent version of Talia, and for some hidden reason, he kept me alive. The whole 'seeker' fiasco could have been the answer to the rebel leader's decision to fend away death for now, but something else grew my mind restless around the thought. When he spoke of me, Bane sounded almost… desolate. Such a description, however reflective, did not seem a plausible characteristic to attach to The Masked Man.

I wrestled with the covers, flustered. There was too much thinking going on… Every five minutes or so, I would look at the bracelet strapped around my wrist with a begrudged frown, contemplating its possible removal, and cursing its existence all at once. How could I sleep peacefully knowing that there was a bomb attached to my body? For any reason at all, even out of sheer annoyance, Bane could detonate the bracelet with a swift click of a button, and I would be a nice addition to the wall décor. A seeker did not appear to be a difficult job to perform from what Bane had said, but anything involving him deserved second-guessing. Not only were the streets dangerous, but the people who occupied the city quarters required equal scrutiny. Now that Gotham City was for the taking, who knew what kind of abused sense of power someone might have nestled in their brain.

The turbulent weather outside reflected the instability of my future. Each snowflake, innocent in their delicacy, represented all the people of Gotham City, with the cold, bitter wind as Bane's violent wrath that desecrated the peacefulness of the gentle frozen crystals, as they were strewn into a disheveled frenzy. I had a choice: stay indoors and watch a city burn from a safe distance, or venture into the cold dark world to experience the chaos like the rest. Indifference was an impossible route to consider. I had to decide whether I wanted resolution more than the fear of the road that would take me there. Could I handle the turmoil that was sure to come if I decided to act on behalf of Gotham City's survival? If fate should have it, I would prosper…

For a long while, I stared out of the window, thinking about tomorrow and what kind of trouble being a seeker would bring. After all, disorder seemed to find me at every turn. In exchange for good intentions, negative consequences always retaliated. From now on, I had to be more careful with what decisions I made, or at least more discreet.

.

.

.

Morning came too soon the next day. The cold, bright dawn pulled my tired mind from a deep sleep, and for a long while after I arose, drowsiness followed me like a shadow. I wanted to delay the separation from Bane and I as long as possible, so I went through the routine of dressing, brushing my teeth, and fixing my hair with extra laxity before I would exit the bedroom into the rest of the suite. After I took a shower, opportunely dousing the bracelet in water, I realized that the device was waterproof – much to my dismay. There had to be some way of taking the device off without detonating the bomb, but for now I had to settle with the bracelet still attached.

…

There was nothing else to be done besides enter the living room of the suite. For a long moment I stood at the closed door, cutting Bane and I off by a few measly inches of wood, breathing deeply and with purposeful calm against the coming tide of unpredictable chaos soon to be faced. How would this day end? Death was sure to follow, but in what way… Gunshot? Stabbing? Blown up? There were so many possibilities, none of which were particularly appealing. I almost laughed at the insincerity of my casually predicted demises.

Today was the day that I would show my strength. Today I would show my will to fight, even if it would be my last.

With one final deep breath, I opened the door to the living room, with a little more force than I anticipated as nervousness took over, and stepped out to meet Bane.

The giant's frame was not hard to spot by the kitchen, as the bulky mass ebbed and flowed calmly from each breath exchanged, and as I approached from behind, no sign of difference moved his body by surprise. Instead of Bane's usual black long sleeve shirt beneath a military style vest, he wore a long tan colored sheep skin bomber jacket that I remembered him wearing on the television back at the estate before the escape to Gotham City. Maybe he was already out this morning, however it was only 6:25 am.

"You are awake early. Did you not sleep well?" Bane asked casually, but as I reviewed the question in my mind, I figured it was said with no real interest. After all, the tyrant did not care about the normality of daily life, such as the sleeping patterns of inferiors, or the hunger and suffering of the people. Once again, Bane was fiddling with some electronics on the table; the laptop open and blinking codes I did not know where to begin to understand.

"Not really," I answered with brutal honesty, caring not for the negative tone used in the statement. "Hard to sleep with a bomb strapped around my wrist."

Carefully, I watched Bane pick up a watch from the table that began to beep, and attempted to strap the contraption around his thick wrist, but as one of the bands kept slipping out of place, I thought maybe his fingers were too large to handle the smallness of the watch. Then I realized that the giant's hands were shaking lightly, and he sighed in frustration trying to fight the device. Suddenly, an unexpected bought of sympathy washed over me. Bane was a terribly powerful being, with strength and skill to support his superiority above all others, and yet… The struggle to put the watch onto his wrist seemed too great for the rebel leader to handle; a small feat for anyone else. Usually tremors were associated with sickness or drug withdrawal, and then the reminiscence of Venom came to mind. Maybe… Maybe Bane was not getting enough of the drug to sustain the damage of his spinal injury. Would he die?

_I owe him a debt._

"Here, let me do it." I insisted, slipping in front of Bane, and grabbing the item before he could refuse help. The device did not resemble a watch that I have ever seen before. Instead of the time, _45 mL_ blinked red on the screen, giving the number a sense of urgency as it beeped simultaneously to each flash.

I could feel Bane's eyes bear down on me with unbearable force, as silence filled us both. The only sound that escaped into the awkward new setting was the mechanical hush of the mask as he breathed. A musky, sweaty scent emanated from the giant's body, the heat from his skin amplifying the natural perfume, and although it was not unpleasant, I felt uncomfortable breathing in the smell. I wanted to quickly get on with the Seeker shenanigans, and therefore as far away from Bane as possible, so that I may find seclusion again.

Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming sense of discomfort knowing that the rebel leader was peering down at me with constant eyes, and I wished to be elsewhere with immediate haste.

There, done.

"What's the watch for?" I asked, quickly stepping to the side, away from the rebel leader, watching him adjust the position of the device. With quiet control, I let out a shuttered sigh, relieving the tension of being so dangerously close to Bane. Oddly enough, when the tyrant and I were adjacent and no harm was committed, the inaction seemed out of place. Most of the times that Bane was mere inches away, he had me in a death grip, threatening my life. A calmer, more collective Bane was interestingly more terrifying, at times, than a violent one. The duality could be reversed, however. In all, Bane was unpredictable no matter how his character is regarded. I had to be aware at all times.

"That doesn't concern you," he replied lowly, eyeing me with a cautious gaze. There was no room for discussion. Someone like Mika, I could bug and prod for answers, but Bane was no one to trifle with, that was for sure. If something did not want to be said, or further explained, do not pursue it. Otherwise, I would simply end up with more bruises to decorate the growing colorful splotches on my skin, and ultimately showcase the rebel leader's marksmanship of abusive power.

The bruise around my neck was sore, truth be told, and the bullet wound was slightly tender still, but to my unbelievable surprise I seemed to be getting a better grasp on the feeling of pain, and curb its strength with meditation and constant exposure. I knew better, however, to let the feeling of confidence morph into a delusion of invincibility. Death could make its final blow at any time, and the impossibility of escaping the demise was clear; no matter how badly life meant to me, I could only control so much.

"I'm just -" I tried to explain, annoyed by the shortness of Bane's tolerance to answer questions. Secrecy fueled the continuation of the rebel leader's operations, and although at this point there was no way that I could demolish any plans given my imprisonment, he still refused to allow entry to most information. What needed to be known, was shared – nothing more. Bane was especially cautious around any lore surrounding himself, so the only way I was going to learn anything further was to turn to Mika for answers. Little did the rebel leader know that I had confidants of my own.

"Worried?" Bane interrupted quickly, his mocking tone hinted with interest. There was a flash of devilish play in the rebel leader's eyes, one that made the hair on my neck stand on end. Any time there was a look different to hatred, rage, or unsteady temperance in Bane's eyes, it terrified me. Such irregularities of character were unpredictable and dangerous to witness, let alone be on the receiving end. I knew Bane to be a monster consisting solely of internal rage, through and through, but when he showed a sense of amusement, mischievousness, or play, these blips expressed more darkness than the associating emotions of anger. These anomalies portrayed the giant's entertainment with the chaos he created. He did not simply induce sufferance and fear on the masses, Bane _enjoyed_ it.

"No. Curious." I corrected. Worry was definitely the wrong feeling to associate with my questioning of the device, but Bane enjoyed toying with me all the same.

_Remember what Mika said. No backtalk. _

After Bane was satisfied with the discomfort he created, he moved to the laptop and pulled out a bunch of cables.

"Give me your arm," the rebel leader commanded. He outstretched a hand in waiting, but there was hesitation on my part… Obviously. The giganticness of the giant's fingers and palm resembled a teethed steel trap, tended for snaring weaker prey – me. Would I take the bait?

"W-why?" I questioned, managing to stay in place and not back away in fear, though the images of yesterday's brawl came to mind after I had refused an order.

"I must input the coordinates for your first delivery. Otherwise, you will be wandering about the city lost, like a small child," he replied calmly, and almost chuckled at the quickness of my defenses against any remotely suspicious or dangerous actions. Besides the information around the origin and purpose of Bane's watch, he seemed in good spirits today. Well, in psychopathic terms, anyway. Yesterday when I refused an order, I was attacked and forced to abide, with no other option. Today, the giant did not seem to mind my hesitation as much. However, I knew better than to push the limits of that theory.

"I am not a child." The retort was said with strength and belief.

"Then give me your arm," Bane taunted, unimpressed.

Reluctantly, I caved. The giant's skin was burning hot to the touch, and I wanted to jerk my hand away before it would be incinerated by the searing heat. No matter how many times I was touched by the giant, with how little or strong of force, there was no getting use to the violation of space and comfort. A long, black wire with a metal head was inserted into an opening in the side of the watch, where Bane then typed in some information into the laptop, and the device beeped – indicating completion of a download.

"I did not mention last night that each delivery has a specific timeframe to complete. If you do not succeed in the mission within the limited time, I will be forced to end your services indefinitely. There needs to be a certain competence to follow the rules; a flaw most in this city lack. The client nor I can wait around all day for you to deliver a package. When I give them a certain time to wait at a location, you will be there regardless of whatever anomalies you encounter on the road," Bane explained, looking eagerly to me for a reaction, while still fidgeting with the watch.

"That's not fair! I don't know the city. What if something happens while I'm out there, and I'm detoured, or hurt?" I protested desperately, pulling my arm away. No longer was time on my side, either. The success of being a Seeker was growing smaller and smaller by the second. There was no possible, fathomable way that I could complete these tasks as Bane says. He wants me to die a failure. No other explanation is reasonable. As the list of do's and don'ts grows longer, the chances of survival weigh thin.

"If you are careful and cautious, then you should not fall into any danger. Your life is forfeit, if not. Simple to understand, don't you think?" Bane provoked.

"Why not choose one of your soldiers to do the job, instead of me? Wouldn't they be more capable?" I suggested with increasing despair.

"You would rather give up someone's life on your behalf?" The rebel leader replied, lifting an eyebrow to show curiosity. "Could you live with the guilt of condemnation?"

"No! The streets… I know they aren't safe. Maybe… Could you give me a gun?" The appeal was bidden for the genuine purpose of protection, but Bane did not see it as such.

"Interesting request, but no. The last time you handled a gun, I was marked with this here," he replied, pointing to the shoulder that I shot during the escape from the underground lair. "You will have to rely on your ability to survive without additional means." There was no hint of sympathy, or self-doubt in Bane's eyes as he looked down at me. Suspicion must run the rebel leader's life, as well. I never really thought about it, until now. Already, I have seen attempts of assassination on Bane's life, from the street raid, and most likely there had been many before, and will be more still, because of where he stands. Many of those who followed the giant, like Mika, are forced to obey, but if she had the chance, I am sure she would escape, or retaliate. Behind every corner, Bane had to be weary of threats. The amount of alertness needed continuously had to be utterly exhausting. At times, I could see its toll.

"You scared me. I didn't mean to shoot," I said truthfully, though the thought of killing the rebel leader at the time would not have been such a bad 'accident'.

Bane turned fully to me, his interest captured. The question was asked with more genuineness than I anticipated. Clearly, he was amused, but something more lingered behind the surface… languish, perhaps? No, impossible.

"Do I still frighten you?"

Without looking away, I fastened on a pair of pale blue eyes wrought with an unreadable expression. "Yes. But I'm working on that," I said, refusing to waver. The question was a challenge, and I would accept, much to Bane's amusement.

With that said, followed by a short silence, the rebel leader let out a rumbling laugh, the sound distorted into a deep echoic rattle. "Your honesty is a rare thing," he replied after having calmed down. Yet again, my efforts of courage have been undermined into a hilarity of sorts. "Come, I will take you to the entrance of the building. Then you will be sent on your way," Bane chuckled, waving for me to follow him as he moved to the door of the suite.

Panic set in. The beginning of the mission was closing in on me, and therefore my fate. Unsure of the end result of today's quest left only an overpowering sense of despair to grow in the depths of my stomach, and suddenly I felt ill. For a second, I was unconfident that I would be able to force down the vomit that was pressuring the lower cavity of my esophagus, so I stood still holding my stomach.

"Wait," I stuttered weakly, looking up at Bane who stood patiently by the door. He said nothing, continuing to stare at me with an unreadable expression. "I don't have a coat." Hopefully, the delay would give me time to recuperate.

Bane looked over to a small door to his right, and walked over to open the content of the room inside. Except, the room turned out to be a closet, and he shuffled a large hand amongst the jackets strung on hangers, pulling out a selected choice without much consideration at all. The giant threw the coat to me, and almost fumbling the catch, I snatched the piece of wear and slipped it on. Not bad. The coat was olive green, with a brown fur hood, and a long body that reached down under my knees for sufficient shelter from the cold outdoors. Since the inside of the jacket was insulated and warm, I should not have any trouble with the wind and snow. Bullets and knives, on the other hand, would be more challenging to evade.

"Come," Bane repeated, nodding his head towards the door. "The more time you waste, the less of it you have to finish the delivery."

We made our way to the elevator and down to the main floor in silence. While Bane walked in front, I trailed meekly behind, huddling within the confinements of the coat in anticipation of the frigid winter weather. Light - I saw light just ahead. The last time that I was outside, I thought it meant freedom, but now I dreaded traveling beyond the borders of the Den. A new fear had been unleashed. Nowhere was safe.

"Sam!" A familiar voice called out, and when I turned around, Mika was seen running towards us with a backpack in hand.

"Mika," I said quietly, my voice trailing off into quietness in remembrance of Bane's close proximity.

"I was afraid I'd miss you before you were sent off," the girl breathed heavily, setting the sack on the ground to catch wind. After a few moments, she stood up straight. "I packed this for you for the road. No guns, unfortunately. Just some basic survival tools, and food if you're hungry." she said, handing the bag to me, which I strung around my shoulders. Mika looked passed me at Bane. "You gotta feed her, you know. She doesn't survive on air." The sarcasm was clear, but the rebel leader ignored the publicized cynicism.

"Thanks," I replied, smiling weakly.

Mika read my sullen face. "Use the skills I taught you. Be fast and efficient. I know you can make it through this, Sam. Just get to the delivery point, drop off the package, and come home."

"_Home_," I repeated sadly, the word foreign to me now.

"Yes," Mika assured, squeezing my shoulder confidently.

"Enough," Bane interrupted the farewell with an aggravated tone. "She must leave."

All three of us exited the lobby of the building into the cold outdoors. The snow was falling lightly from the opaque sky, and the wind was surprisingly calm. A certain stillness filled the air that created an opposite effect – unease. As blinding as the light was to my eyes, the sun's heat was unfelt on the skin; almost as lifeless as the dark.

Barsaad walked up to Bane, and I looked away when the soldier glanced over to me quickly. I felt as though I had failed the expectations Barsaad had of me when he claimed I resembled his sister. I had yet to prove myself to many people.

"The contact has been notified of the delivery time and place," the underling informed Bane with an equable attitude. "Should I go back to the lair and see about its progress?"

"Yes, my brother. You have done well. Go," Bane replied with appeased pleasure. He nodded for Barsaad to leave, and after the soldier disappeared in a strange military machine, the rebel leader turned back to me.

I was handed a light brown envelope taken from an inside pocket of Bane's coat, but as I tried to pull it away, he kept a grip on the package for a moment longer. "You have two hours to deliver. Return to the suite when you have finished the job. There is a tracking device in the bracelet, so do not attempt to run. You know what will happen."

I pulled the package again, and finally Bane let go. Quickly, the envelope was slipped into my backpack, and I turned away from everyone to face the oncoming road.

"Good luck," Mika wished, standing a little behind Bane.

The crunching of snow reverberated against the silence, as I took a few steps forward.

When Bane lastly spoke, I stopped suddenly, hoping that he had decided to let me stay, after all. But, as the words were spoken with such mockery, I knew that the thought was foolish to consider.

"I hope you do not die."

.

.

.

_Fear cannot take what you do not give it._

Five minutes passed before I built up enough courage to look behind me, and I found that Bane and everyone at the Den had been erased in the wake of all the snow drifting down with increasing heaviness. A deluge of white flakes coated the earth with a purity previously demolished by the destruction unleashed on the city, but as I stepped on the ground and shifted the layer of snow, black dirt muddied the cleanliness of the white. Evil was only hiding beneath the surface.

I pulled the fur hood up to protect my sight from being completely blinded by the snow, as I looked down at the wristband to find where I had to go. A small animated map glowed on the screen, where the small blue dot represented me, and the red dot represented the destination. As I traveled forward, the blue dot moved accordingly down a linear pathway that signified the designated street needing to be taken in order to find the target. If the line turned to the right or left, a mechanical voice birthed from the wristband to indicate the need to take a street (by name) on whichever side. The method was clear to follow, and as I moved forward, uncertainty eventually gave way to hope.

When the UP arrow was pressed, the screen flashed to a countdown of how long remained for the mission to be completed. So far, I had an hour and fifty minutes left to find the target. Unknowing of how long it would take to pass through all the streets towards the final push, I began to walk faster feeling a new desperation. Bane seemed like a man who would only choose the most skilled and competent people for important tasks… So, why did he select me to become a seeker? The evidence did not add up.

The streets were empty at this point. Maybe I hit Gotham on a calmer day, if such a condition were possible. In any case, I was relieved to have some peace at last.

…

An hour left. Closer… I was getting ever closer to the destination of the delivery. The snow had lifted somewhat, and the distant road was not so hard to distinguish anymore.

"Almost there," I whispered under my breath, a fog of steam evaporating in the cold air as I spoke. Calculating from the amount of time it took for me to make it thus far, I should be able to reach the target area within half an hour if a good pace was kept.

As if fate heard the slight confidence I exposed, a clatter of voices broke through the silent fixture of the white wall. I sprinted to an edifice on the right of the street and hid out of sight. My heart was racing so fast, that the buildable pressure in my head made all attempts of thought dizzy. Nothing was known about the potential threat. These people, were they civilians, raiders, or some of Bane's men? The best decision I could follow was to remain in the shadows, and wait until the strangers passed without knowledge of my existence.

"Yeah, sure. I bet Bane _personally_ told you that you had a chance of becoming a superior officer," a male voice scoffed.

"What can I say? The big man has got an eye for skill," another man said coolly.

"Yeah, right. You're full of it. The only skill you have is tying your shoelaces properly," the first voice joked.

"Both of you shut up," a third man replied. "You're on patrol, so stop acting like fools."

I pressed hard against the wall of the building, hoping to remain unseen. When the three soldiers came into view after they passed the edifice, I realized they were dressed in familiar uniforms marked by a red scarf that most of Bane's men wore as a sign of their united allegiance. They were simply on patrol, keeping the streets in line, and scouting for suspicious activity that signified possible threats. There was no need to be so afraid, I believed.

As the nervousness weaned, I took my eyes off of the soldiers and looked around to assure the coast was clear of any additional surprises. In the window of a building across the street, I saw a figure standing. The glass was dirty, so the face of the person was unclear, but as a shadowy hand raised an object in the shape of a gun, I tensed.

There was no time to lose. To warn the soldiers, I screamed "Watch out!" and ran into the street before anything could derive from my horrified expectations. The thought of any life being taken away permanently and unwillingly was a situation that I could not stand idly by and allow to happen. Though these men belonged to the very ruler who imprisoned me, they were still human beings, and to end their life with violence caused by another would not be executed without retaliation of some sort.

"What the fuck?" one of the men blurted, as they all simultaneously turned around, and pulled rifles from their jackets with staggering speed. As soon as they saw me, they hesitated to raise their guns. I was not the threat the warning was for.

Just then, a shot rang out, and one of the soldier's heads burst into a disassembled mass of brain and blood all over the white snow. The corpse fell limp and heavy to the ground in a crumpled heap of tangled limbs. Blood scattered onto the other soldiers' faces, and even I felt the light touch of a familiar liquid contact with delicacy the skin of my cheek. Shock intruded into my very being, freezing every fiber, and I could not even motion a wipe to remove the foreign blood away in disgust. Instead, I stood immobile, horrified by the headless image of the soldier's corpse. One minute he was alive, the next he was dead. Death has such speed.

"Raid!" the group leader roared, and pulled his gun up and around to look for the shooter. He seemed more prepared, more experienced with the weaponry and familiar with panicked situations than the other soldier, who could not have been older than thirty.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" the other soldier wailed in sheer agony, falling to his knees to hold the headless corpse of his friend. "Fucking bastards!"

The leader looked at me, lowering his gun slightly. "Who are you?" he rushed to say, looking around with erratic eye movement.

"I'm Bane's seeker," I stuttered monotonously, unable to look away from the soldier who was shot.

"Shit!" he cursed, grabbing a hold of my arm. "You gotta get out of here. Go!" He shoved me forward to encourage a run, the violent push hauling my mind back into reality.

I looked down at the man on the ground, covered in the blood of his fellow soldier. "You can't die, man. Please, stop playin' around," he cried, shaking the dead corpse in total disbelief.

"Get up," the leader commanded irritatingly, shoving the soldier with his foot while still on alert. "There's no time for mourning the dead. We have to protect the girl." Suddenly, his eyes widened as he looked beyond my drained face, and the leader dropped his gun to the ground - defeated.

I whirled around to face the target of the leader's terrified stare, and spotted a group of armed men walk out onto the street from a number of the buildings surrounding us. All of the intruders wore black police raid gear, most likely stolen, with handkerchiefs that covered the bottom half of their faces; their identities unknown.

"My, my. You boys are definitely in the wrong place, at the wrong time," a smooth voice sounded in the crowd. A tall, slim figure sporting raid gear stepped out in front of the other interlopers, except the black handkerchief he wore had the bottom half of a skull printed on the material. From what I could tell, he must have been the chief of the encroaching group. None of the other men spoke out of turn when he dominated the scene, and how the masked man expressed authority in the way he walked and talked suggested no other sustainable reason.

A couple of attackers came up behind the two soldiers and forced them to the ground with the nozzle of their assault weapons, while I was remained untouched.

As the raid leader stepped closer, I noticed he had a light pair of blue eyes, almost grey, which looked over to me after studying the two soldiers and determining that they served no threat as they were currently positioned. Discomfort did not affect the masked man as he looked down at the mangled corpse, and seemed rather curious by the crying soldier's erratic behaviour with a slight cocking of the head. None of the invaders portrayed a sense of disturbance towards the killing, but rather indifference.

"Are you with these fools?" the chief raider asked amusingly, the hint of an English accent manipulating every vowel. "Please tell me you're not. I would hate to mess up that pretty face."

I looked down at the soldiers, the leader peering up at me with a slightly elevated head.

"Get down!" one marauder behind the soldiers shouted, and hit the leader over the skull violently with his gun, wherein the leader hissed at the newfound pain, but begrudgingly complied.

"Please, I need to go." I shuttered, bending the will to look at my wristband, and inevitably bring attention to the device, though I worried that time was running out for the delivery to be made. With every step taken by the chief raider, my breath shortened until only uncontrollable fitful huffs of air escaped; opaque puffs of crystalized vapour chucking out like the steam of a locomotive train. When the lead soldier encouraged me to run, I should have listened, but again fear took its strong hold.

"You didn't answer my question," he said more softly, clearly aware of the stress he was causing, but diluted no lesser authority. "Are you with these men?" The voice of the man was silk; smooth and inviting to indulge, but I knew better than to trust a raider. These plunderers were nothing more than a bunch of criminals with a warped sense of power, mistaking senseless bravado for righteousness. Now that the city was absent of lawful authority, dwellers could take up arms for Bane, remain neutral and afraid, or form a rebellious group with no basis for good or evil, but rather to satisfy selfish need. Raiders, as Mika informed, were materialistic and optimistic. They gathered what valuables and status salvageable, in wait for the end of the chaos to cash in their efforts for a nice, comfortable lifelong settlement. They took advantage of the pandemonium, and filtered monetary value from the pain and sufferance of its victims. 'They're leeches,' Mika had said.

"Bane with find out about this, and you all will suffer," the leading soldier laughed darkly, and spat at the chief raider's feet. "He will kill you."

With this, the guarding raiders at the back of the two soldiers kicked the leader onto the ground in anger, and planting a foot into the soft spot of his stomach, crippling to man whose purpose for the threat was to distract attention from me.

"Not likely," the masked man chuckled, bemused by the soldier's idle warning. He looked to me. "You should know better than to wander in the streets. Not unless you have a great purpose to fulfil."

Another raider stepped up to the side of his superior, and whispered inaudibly into an open ear; the leader leaning back slightly to listen, however his eyes unmoving as they watched me intensely.

"So, you came from the Den. What purpose, I wonder, would you have with Bane?" the masked man asked thoughtfully, having been given new information to fuel his curiosity, and recomposed himself into a tall, lean stance.

"My business is my own," I countered, determined to resist the allure of the raid chief.

The men chuckled at the display of useless courage.

"Unfortunately," he continued, pausing for a moment to create suspense. "These are my streets."

Before I could deny the raid chief's claim, someone spoke up in the crowd.

"Ikem. Someone approaches."

The chief raider turned his head to look down the street, and I followed his eyes.

_So… His name is Ikem. _

Against the blinding white, a black figure approached with a casual stride, despite the guns and threatening scene of masked men.

Ikem breathed loudly, almost a growl of welcomed anticipation, as he eyed Cat Woman's glossy leather frame in the coming distance. Excitement widened his blue eyes, as the raider adjusted to the surprising, although not unwanted, party guest, and turned fully to meet the mysterious black feline.

"Cat Woman, is it?" Ikem hollered over the wind and snow – a rhetoric question. By the unimpressed tone used, the raid chief already knew who the woman was, and as per usual, did not feel threatened. The raiders repositioned themselves to face the new potential problem, and held readily onto loaded guns to claim the lethal power they possessed. With an army of men, Ikem was in no danger, and he knew it to be true.

_Cat Woman? THE Cat Woman from television? Why in the world would she be here? _

"Now, boys." She purred. "Pointing a gun at a girl's head is no way to impress." Unlike Bane, the mask Cat Woman wore did not cover the majority of her face, only the eyes, so her facial features were more distinguishable. With long brown hair, and full crimson lips, the heroine could already be considered beautiful, even without bearing in mind the curvy figure she flaunted in the tight leather suit. She, too, was unafraid.

Cat Woman looked at me. "Get out of here. These men won't be hurting you."

Ikem stepped slightly in front of me. "Oh? You think that you can command my men?" There was a slight annoyance in the chief raider's voice this time.

Cat Woman rolled her eyes. "Please. I've brought what you needed, so in exchange you can let the girl go." She raised a gloved hand holding a small sealed envelope.

"Should I forget the other settlement we agreed to?" Ikem questioned with a lighter tone, although a concealed threat lingered below the surface of words.

"Don't even think about it. However," Cat Woman sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "I could always keep the chip, and you could find your own way to come up with the information you need. Your choice." The last two words were said with an intense precision and seriousness that the previous sentence did not possess, which made the claim all the more severe.

Ikem glared down at me, secretly defeated. He wanted to toy with me for a while longer, but Cat Woman spoiled the fun, and the scene turned more serious with higher stakes at risk. Higher than the chief raider was willing to gamble for.

"Fine. She may leave," Ikem shrugged, trying to seem less disappointed.

_What kind of business does Cat Woman have with a group of raiders?_

"Thank you," I said to Cat Woman, nodding to her in acknowledgement.

"Don't worry about it. I just want to get this over with, and you're in the way," She said in return, keeping her eyes on Ikem. There was definite disdain in her voice.

In any case, I was still grateful.

As I withdrew from the blood and the armed men, to escape back onto route of the delivery, Ikem looked to me with roguish eyes. "I'll be seeing you again," he promised.

.

.

.

There was no time to lose. Only ten minutes remained before the delivery would be considered late, and my death certain. With as much speed that could be mustered, I fled down the street towards the final destination; lungs in terrible pain from breathing in the bitter cold air. Tears swelled in the corner of my eyes at the thought of failing the mission, and the whisking snow was no help. No crying. I promised myself not to cry.

"I can make it," I breathed hard; an emotional shudder. There were only two turns left to take before the final push.

There!

A man conspicuously stood in a long grey wool coat at the corner of St. Mary Road and Briar Street, exactly where the red dot on the wristband indicated as the delivery location. He glanced at his watch, and looked down the street both ways for any sign of the package, soon spotting me on the approach.

"H-Hey!" I yelled, and waved my hand in the air. Excitement filled me. There was still hope yet.

"I was afraid you wouldn't show," the man smiled nervously, outstretching his hand to take the package.

I knelt into the snow to open the backpack on the ground and pulled out the package thereafter, which also gave me a chance to catch wind. "Just a moment."

"Hope you didn't have any trouble getting here," the man said in an attempt to fill the silence.

"Oh, nothing too bad. Just a few raiders," I responded with surprising lightness. All that mattered now was that I effectively fulfilled the delivery on time. The raiders were long gone, and I would definitely take an alternate route on the way back to the Den, so as to sneak past the detection of the marauders with more success than the first attempt.

"Oh," the client murmured quietly, stunned by the lack of care towards the serious implementation of the confession.

"Here you go," I said with a smile, handing over the envelope to the man, who stuck the package under an arm for safe keeping.

"Good. Good. I'll let Bane know that you made it on time." The client nodded, and gave a weary smile. As a final solute, the man tipped his hat to me, and started to walk alone down a snow covered road. He did not seem like an associate of Bane's dominion, but looks can deceive.

I stood unmoving and silent for a few moments, taking in the scenery, and the past two hours; filled with peril and yet… hope. Today would be the first missions of many as a Seeker, and I could not let the success of one deliver obscure the potentiality of possible future anomalies. For this day only, I could celebrate the success of my first mission, but tomorrow would start anew, and with fresh anxieties.

The air was a peaceful calm again. I lifted my face up, letting the gentle flakes of snow nestle onto warmer cheeks.

On the way back to the Den, I did not rush. There was nothing to look forward to in terms of reward, or acknowledgement on Bane's part, and the outdoors was barely accessible nowadays, so I took my time returning home. Home… Such an unfamiliar word now.

.

.

.

When I returned to the suite, Bane was nowhere to be found. Disappointment did not occur. The fire was crackling and warm; the only destination that interested me at this point, after a long journey home in the cold winter snow. After I removed my jacket and threw it onto the couch lazily, moaning loudly as I stretched sore limbs, I caught a glimpse of a box on the kitchen counter.

"What the…?" I whispered doubtfully, stepping over to the mysterious box with cautious footing. There was a note on the top of the box, and it read: _A reward for your continuance of living._

"Haha. Very funny," I mumbled darkly, throwing the note to the side, as I opened the box.

Bane could not care less if I lived or not. The alteration was too strange to consider.

There was an iPod and an empty journal hidden within Pandora's Box, along with several pens.

"No way," I almost laughed, amazed. A gold mine. Not only did I miss writing poetry, but music has almost become a mythological element, as well. The faint remembrance of music fluttered lightly on the borders of formation, but I could not recall the truth of its magical, escapist powers. I skimmed through the playlists on the iPod and found a plethora of musical genres. When I was not busy being a Seeker, or training with Mika, I would write and listen to music, so as to escape on some level from the horrors of Bane's treachery. Physically, I would remain in Gotham City's remnants, but mentally I would be elsewhere.

Suddenly, I realized that there were no earphones in the box.

"Goddamnit, Bane!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** First of all, I would like to apologize for all the grammatical errors and repeated words in the last chapter. I try to closely watch how I write, and review my work as many times as possible before I consider it feasible to read by the public. Only after I looked over the last chapter post its publication did I realize all the mistakes I made. Forgive me! Even the chapter title is spelled wrong… A sad day indeed.

I thought I'd end this chapter with a little humour. Bane, you dirty dog. Haha.

Tell me what you think about the whole 'Seeker' aspect! Bane's errand girl. Sure to bring up many interesting events in future chapters. Also, what do you think of Ikem? He will reappear in upcoming chapters, too. Ikem is inspired by Luke Goss. :P

Why is everyone masked in this episode?! Bane… Cat Woman… Ikem… Geez. These people must have lots of self-confidence issues. Just kidding!

PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS TELLING ME WHAT YOU THINK (OR QUESTIONS)!

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more!


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